Dogs Don't Know It's Not Bacon
by darkmorsmordreheart
Summary: S&M. Shiny gold shorts, lap dances, neon lights, inappropriate displays of affection in public, animal print and sex; just the way Mercedes Jones likes it.
1. SSSinSdaS

**Author's Note:** Hi! This is my first Samcedes story. It is also my first Glee story! I usually write Harry Potter and Naruto stuff (don't look it up if you don't like slash or if you don't know what slash is, just saying). Now, I don't know about you, but I really identify with Mercedes' character on the show and I also love white boys and I also love strip clubs, so it was kinda inevitable that I was going to write this story. Just because Glee is going to be off for a few weeks doesn't mean that we have to stop fantasizing about our favorite characters, right? _**–darkmorsmordreheart**_

**Warning:** The author is not completely sure if all the characters are _in character_, so check her on that if OOCness bothers you to the extreme. The one thing the author IS sure of is that there will be explicit sex and a lot of it. She's bored and she hasn't had a boyfriend in awhile, these things are bound to happen. Like for serious. This ain't sex-ed, but you gon learn taday.

_I do not own Glee or its characters, nor do I profit from writing this story. Please enjoy._

O0O0O0O0O

Chapter One:

_Stripping Sam Succeeds in Seducing Da Sista_

O0O0O0O0O

"I. Hate. Both of you," Mercedes Jones told her dearest best friends as their drinks arrived. "Forever."

"Whatever, Aretha," Santana Lopez snorted as she reached out to slap the half naked waiter's spandex covered behind in lieu of a tip. She took a sip of her fruity, vodka and Hennessy-filled concoction with a cocky smile. And why wouldn't she have a cocky smile? She was the one to orchestrate this entire trip, after all. Mercedes was sure of it. "Just eat your wine-infused fruit and shut the hell up while me and Kurt show you how to have fun. You remember fun, right? It's that thing that crawled up your shapely ass a few months ago and died – remember?"

Mercedes only pouted and fingered an orange slice out of her sangria.

"_Coming to the stage,"_ a booming (and extremely cheesy) voice said from the speakers, _"Rusty Moses!"_

"I'm not sure whether that's a yoga pose or a blasphemous form of transportation," Kurt Hummel mused from Mercedes' left side. She chuckled and shook her head as a "fireman" strolled out onto the stage in front of them and proceeded to flash his… "hose". The room was quickly filling up with drunken sorority sisters and PTA moms, howling and cackling at all the naked men strolling through the lounge and on the stage.

"I can't believe I'm in this place," she groaned into the hands she had buried her face into. Santana only cackled like the witch she was, but Kurt nodded, his smooth, pale features contorting into a frown that would normally make him fret and whine about wrinkle cream investment.

"Don't make that face," laughed Santana. "This was your idea."

"This?" Kurt said, swinging his arm in a grand gesture as if to bring further attention to the hotmessedness that was _The Crooked Pony Gentlewoman's Club _– as if it needed any further attention than what neon purple lights and animal print brought it so far. "This? _This_ was _my_ idea in the same sense that giving you a perm was _my_ idea – Or! Or how that time we went to Vegas and _didn't_ see Celine Dion was _my_ idea or how the decision to explain the differences between 'there, they're and their' to Brittany was _my_ idea. All my ideas said in alcohol induced flights of fancy, in sarcastic tones or whilst sitting upon the lap of my beloved Blaine. It doesn't count."

"Well, despite all that crap, _you_ were the one who said, 'Let's take Mercedes to a seedy strip club so we can see if she still recognizes what a penis looks like' and that's what we did, Grand Duchess of Sunlight Deprivation."

Kurt only just barely flinched at Mercedes' accusing glare before puffing his chest up and lifting his chin. "Yes. I said it. And I will not deny that it needed to be said." His eyes narrowed at the sound of Mercedes' smacking lips. He side-eyed her before continuing, "You haven't had sex in two years, Diva. This is a major problem."

"I haven't had sex in seventeen months, Kurt, I've been busy and it's a not a problem because in those seventeen months I've gotten a new job, a new car, a new apartment –"

"And no new orgasms. Just the same old battery powered ones after a rerun of Saturday Night Live after another Saturday of not living," Santana said, ignoring the growing tic in her friend's eye. "I don't care how productive you've been in growing up and establishing a career and all that other bitter independent woman shit; you don't go out unless we drag you out and you need some fun in your life. So here we are."

"So here we are," Kurt echoed resolutely.

"_Coming to the stage… Bronco Locks!"_

The fireman had left the stage only to be replaced by some western-themed Rastafarian. Mercedes downed the rest of her drink and stuck another wine-dyed orange slice into her mouth. No use arguing with the truth, she supposed.

"So here we are."

O0O0O0O0O

"Fifty bucks you're going to end up giving the gay guy a dance. Put it on the table right now!" Russell slapped his hand on the bar and Sam rolled his eyes. He glanced at the trio across a room that was just beginning to fill up for the night and shook his head.

"No, just no. Look at how clean he is – Look at the way he's sitting at the edge of his chair! He doesn't want to touch anything in this room, let alone have something that's been in this room for hours on end bouncing in his lap."

Russ just shook his head and scratched under his fireman helmet. "Gay guys are wild, man. You never know. He's just prissy. Two more drinks and you'll be yanking his hand out of your shorts."

"Whatever. Which girl should I approach?" asked Sam, conflicted between the angry soon to be drunk one and the sad soon to be drunk one.

"Well, obviously not the lesbian." His attention snapped back to Russ and the other man just shrugged. "The Latina. I can just feel that shit, don't ask."

"Fine, I won't ask about your very, very specific Spidey sense," he laughed as Russ jumped over the bar and pulled a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge. Sam accepted an offered bottle took a big gulp before asking, "So the black girl?"

"No."

"The fuck, man?"

"She don't want your skinny white ass."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever, I'm going for the black girl." Russ only grunted in reply as Sam adjusted his gold shorts and walked away from the bar. He smiled appealingly at the women he passed, blowing kisses to the ones who complimented his blond hair and occasionally stopping so recent divorcees and the like could rake their press-ons down his sculpted torso.

Eventually he made it to the trio and was subjected to three gazes of glacial judgment.

He was taken aback only for a moment – he was used to women and gay men fawning, gawking and ogling after his body, not rolling their stares up and down him like they could see through his skin – but he recovered as hastily as possible and gave them each a wide smile.

Before he could open his mouth to speak, the gay man lifted a finger to gain his attention and said, "Let me guess: Rocky Road."

"Roscoe Longenthick," the black girl chimed in.

"B.L. 'Big Lips' McGoldShorts," the Latina interjected.

Sam snorted and shook his head. "Wow… No, I'm Sam."

"Just Sam?" The gay guy seemed so disappointed that even the sailor's hat strategically placed on his perfectly coiffed head seemed to droop. "Not even like Sam Hardstone?"

"Sam _Dick_ens?" the black girl asked.

"Sam My Lips Can Be Used As A Flotation Device In Case Of An Emergency?" crooned the Latina.

Sam only shook his head once more. "Nope. They just call me Sam. Sometimes Sam I Am… but I don't like green eggs and ham."

After a moment of communal wincing within the group, the Latina just sighed, "I feel like I should say something, but since you're half naked, I'll just let it slide."

Nodding his appreciation, Sam asked, his gaze on the brown-skinned, brown-eyed beauty in the middle, "Would any one of you like a lap dance?"

"She would!" the soon to be angry drunk and the gay sailor burst out simultaneously as they each used both hands to push their friend's chair towards him. If the look on her face wasn't enough to send Sam into a fit of chuckles, the fact that she fell out of her chair and into his arms was. At least… until the impact of her body hit his. Laughter was the farthest thing from his mind, no matter how flustered and embarrassed the woman in his arms looked.

He could only think about the heat coming from her, seeping through her clothes and into the bare skin of his chest and torso. He could feel the fullness of her chest, the softness of her stomach, the heat of her – heat so intense that the small hands clutching his biceps for support seemed to brand him.

Finally, after three seconds that felt as long as the birth and demise and then rebirth of the universe, the woman had righted herself and was now standing on her own two feet.

Still in his arms.

Still plastered to the front of him.

Still too fucking hot to be funny.

Not entirely sure if he should be relieved, happy or horrified by the gradual panic of realization that he could see rising in her eyes, he pulled his chest, stomach, _groin_ away from her with a quick grin.

And then he pushed her back down on the chair.

Sam's smile faded, licked away as his tongue swiped across first his top and then his bottom lip. Her friends watched, enraptured, as he sauntered closer to her, fanning themselves with their hands as he straddled the chair – with her still in it – careful to hover over her lap. He swiveled his hips a few times, all the while watching her face so he could see the exact moment her mouth either dried out or began to flood with saliva.

The expression on her beautiful face was one he planned to log away into the _Male Satisfaction_ archive in his mind; her lips, plump and juicy, parted so the tiny little gasps that caused the rapid rise and fall of her breasts could escape, her eyes fighting between widening at his every move or growing heavy and hooded with arousal. Said arousal had her hands shaking, even as they clutched the bottom of her chair in an attempt to not touch him.

"I'm not havin' none of that, Missy," he murmured as he pried her fingers from the chair and set her palms flat on his abs.

"Oh, Sweet Baby Jesus," she gasped, her eyes readily eating up the sight of her dark hands against his pale skin. His quick grin was crooked as he guided her hands lower, across his navel, to the edges of his tiny gold shorts. "Oh, Sweet Adult Jesus," she whispered, her eyes lifting up for guidance and only meeting a wicked gaze that twinkled under strobe lights like diamonds would in sunshine.

"Shorts on or off, Missy?" Sam asked, pleasure purring through him, hardening him, as her unsure fingers played along the V of his hips.

"Off!" growled her friends at the same time she managed to mouth, "On."

"Alright," he said, moving her hands to hold him at the waist. He really enjoyed invading her personal space when he reached behind her shoulders to grasp the back of her chair; she smelled like vanilla and something else… He couldn't quite catch it while nuzzling her ear… Maybe her neck…

O0O0O0O0O

That skinny white boy was something else, Mercedes decided hours later, once she could piece coherent thoughts together again.

However, when her mind _was_ blissfully blank of anything but aesthetic sensation, all she knew was the basic instinct known as, "getting closer to that big penis rubbing against her stomach".

Never mind that her friends were sitting on either side of her, gaping like guppies at both the stripper's antics and the sight of their normally contained, often sexually deprived Mercedes letting so much of her hair down they could practically see her sew-in thread. Never mind that she was planning on going to church tomorrow with her grandmother and holding a bible without it bursting into flames in her hands. Never mind that she's never done anything like this before; felt up a male stripper while being felt up by a male stripper. Never mind her dignity, her morality, her sanity – this white boy had whispered, "I bet your pussy is sooooooooo juicy," into her ear and that was a wrap. She was done for.

Putty in his arms.

So it was no surprise when Big Lips McGoldShorts stood up, yanked her out of the chair, lifted her _bodily_ from the ground so that she was forced to wrap her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and then turned around and sat down in her chair with her in his lap. Actually, it was pretty surprising, but Mercedes rolled with the reversal of positions as any true diva would: she bounced in his lap.

"Oh my Gaga."

"_Ea Diablo_."

She found herself surprised again that even while seated, seemingly pinned to the chair by her weight, this man continued with his body rolling, his dancing, his _rubbing his dick into the crotch of her jeans_… Several involuntary moans later, he was bouncing her up and down in his lap himself in a simulated act of really stimulating sex. His face was buried in her cleavage, his breath wet and teasing, his hands big and roaming, his body long and twisting, pressing against hers, making her sink into him as much as he was sinking into her, absorbing her like osmosis…

"_Coming to the stage… Miles Long!_"

"That's my cue to go, Missy," he told her breasts and then repeated to her face as whatever song Mercedes and everyone sitting around her wasn't paying attention to ended. He helped her stand, he stood himself, he accepted both fifties Kurt and Santana handed him, he bowed to Mercedes and then he walked away in a literal flash because the strobe lights were bouncing off his shiny gold ass.

The diva sat down in her chair and glanced at the other two. "That was fun."

"I think I lost my virginity again," Santana said as Kurt revealed, "I'm pregnant now."

O0O0O0O0O

**A/N:** So, let's review this hotmessedness I just introduced into this fandom… SMH. I'm sorry. I had just planned on writing freaky, stripper sex. It seems my mind has developed a plot (and plots for two other stories, apparently). Minds are just batshit crazy like that, huh? Let me know what you think. _**–DMH**_


	2. MMMaMM

**Author's Note:** So, I def just realized since I had planned on this being a one-shot (for those who care, it stopped being a one-shot as soon as I started writing Russell. Like wtf? Who the hell is _Russell_ to be popping up in my story when Sam was supposed to take Mercedes into a back room and love her down? What the fuck, Russell? What the fuck?), there's no set city, no set character background, no set job, etc. so I'll just detail all that crap in as the story goes along. Feel free to ask questions about anything you want me to address and I'll try to incorporate the answers into the story. And thank you all for the reviews! That was really surprising to me – I feel so appreciated! It was especially pleasing to learn how pregnant Sam got everyone. _**–DMH**_

P.S. – I discovered you chicks talking about me on Tumblr. Follow me! I'll put a link in my profile.

O0O0O0O0O

Chapter Two:

_Moping Mercedes Meets a Music Man_

O0O0O0O0O

Satan was right.

Battery powered orgasms suck major ass.

Mercedes learned this fact of life the hard way a few days after… _the incident_ at the strip club. She was not new to the concept of just getting one out of the way so she could focus on other things like sleeping or moving her furniture around for the umpteenth time. No, Mercedes knew all about orgasms of convenience – she'd lived on them for seventeen months! They weren't for pleasure, weren't for wobbly knees and crossed eyes; they were just a tool for helping one sleep after accidentally watching _The Notebook_ at one in the morning or accidentally catching a whiff of an especially good-looking coworker or accidentally listening to Maxwell when he pops up in one's iTunes…

She just hadn't been thinking of those orgasms. They had become an accepted way of life.

Until that Saturday night in a crappy strip club.

When she got home from _that_, it was all too easy to just crawl out of her clothes and into her sheets, close her eyes and pretend her small, brown hands were wide and white. She thought of that firm chest and those strong thighs as she traced fingers along her breasts and spread her own legs. Memories of a crooked grin invited a hand between her raised knees. She had gotten wet as soon as he had touched her and she had stayed that way long after he left, so her fingers easily glided along her sex, tracing her lips and pirouetting around her clit. The resulting orgasm was one to write home about.

So of course the plastic abomination in her nightstand drawer deserved to die. And she hoped it burned in hell.

She had attempted to use her vibrator for the first time two days AS (After Stripper). It had been horrible. At first, she couldn't understand why it had been so easy and so beautiful to touch herself, lift herself with _just_ her fingers even one day AS, but as soon as she needed a little extra buzzing help, it all fell to shit. The wham-bam-thank you ma'am of it all was so disappointing.

And it made her grumpy.

Her students were the first to notice her bad mood on the Tuesday following _the incident_. As a result of her seventeen months of new things, she had gotten a job as a music teacher and choir director for rude ass high school students. Rude ass high school students who had no issue telling their teacher, who wasn't even a decade older than them, how old and tired she was looking. Or how that glow she had on Monday was completely gone. Or how maybe she should get laid.

That last one had gotten a little fool sent to the office, but Mercedes couldn't even be mad because it was the truth. Well, that's what Santana said after Mercedes had driven through ridiculous Columbus rush hour traffic to whine at her about the entire situation.

"Look, 'Cedes, I don't know what to tell you – Hey! Clean up those kicks!" Rolling her eyes at the girls that were _supposed_ to be trained Ohio State cheerleaders, Santana turned her gaze back to her friend with a wry grin. "I swear summer boot camp needs to start three weeks earlier. It's football season now and they're giving me this rookie shit?"

"Don't be mean to those girls. They look alright," Mercedes said as her doubtful bestie nudged her to the side of the field where they sat together on a bench.

"They're not alright. If they can muster up the energy to blow the entire third string of the football team, they can execute higher kicks. Anyway, that little obnoxious child was correct; you need penis. If I wasn't a lesbian, I'm sure I would know where to get you some, but I am, so I don't."

"Thank you regardless," laughed Mercedes, patting the other on the knee. "Maybe Kurt…"

Santana just scrunched her nose up and shook her head. "His gaydar is worse than yours. Unless you want someone who tells you how ugly those drapes you got at _Bed Bath and Beyond_ are, I'd advise against that."

"Hey!" Mercedes gasped. "I like those drapes!"

"I didn't say it! The gay guy Kurt's gonna set you up with did."

"Shut up and tell me what I should do about this penis shortage."

Santana shrugged. "Get another lap dance."

Even the jolt of awareness that shot through her body at the mention of that lap dance was better than anything the plastic abomination had given her. Without realizing it, she had begun fanning herself and Santana just smiled at her knowingly. "I don't know if I can do all that again. I'm pretty sure that was a onetime thing."

"Fine, but if you're still not getting any a month from now, I'm going down to that shithole and yanking the stripping grouper out by his cherry-red deformities myself and I'm going to deliver him to your apartment."

"Santana…"

"I am being so dead ass right now. Let me tell you something," said Santana, scooting over to sit closer and taking Mercedes hand. She looked her friend in the eyes and continued, "If you don't use it, you _will_ lose it. First rule of having a vagina."

"Satan, what?" she laughed, attempting to yank away which only resulted in a tug of war for her hand.

After the struggle, Santana stared at the hand in her lap and said, "Seriously. It's not like riding a bicycle, Wheezy. Your vagina _will_ forget. And then it will dry up and start to send messages to your brain like, 'You should buy a cat' and then you'll have forty-seven cats and I'll have to laugh at you ten years from now when you're on _Hoarders_."

With a pout, Mercedes thoughts wandered to a conversation she had with her landlady just the other day… it was about kitty litter.

_It had already begun._

"We need to go to a club or something this weekend. Definitely," she burst out enthusiastically and Santana gave a sigh of relief and a smile. They chatted idly for a few more minutes until one of Santana's girls fumbled a simple handstand and the Assistant Cheerleading Coach was up out of her seat and stomping across the field in a flurry of fury and Spanish curses.

"See you, girl!" Mercedes called to the Latina's back and was surprised when Santana took the time to wave before tearing into the nervous group. Mercedes shook her head with a chuckle and made her way back to her car. "Note to self: no cats. Ever."

O0O0O0O0O

"Lies! My gaydar is so much better than yours!" Kurt fussed the next day as he flitted through racks of clothing they weren't going to buy. "At least _I_ knew I was gay. That's already one I've got over you, right?"

"Right," Mercedes laughed as she lifted up a pair of heels for Kurt to inspect. He glanced at them and made a face, so she set them down. "So yeah, Santana says I need to end this sex drought pronto. She said I'll end up going to the spinster land of no return and I can already feel myself teetering on the edge of it."

"Yes, yes, I agree that sex _is_ important, but don't let that demon scare you."

"But she's right," Mercedes sighed as she picked up a t-shirt that said XL on the tag, but was a liar. "My body is just not accepting the same old same old."

Lifting a sweater that looked like it had been ripped apart by monkeys and then sewed back together by those same monkeys, Kurt replied, "You just have to bring your body back to the state of awareness it had that night at the strip club."

"So I'm always going to need a naked man in my lap in order to masturbate?"

"Don't we all? But no. You simply need to remember the setting, the tone, the _actions_ that got you so hot and bothered in the first place."

"Kurt…"

"_Fantasize_," he whispered and Mercedes laughed.

"That's always so weird. Whenever I try, my mind wanders to other stuff and then I always have to get up to make sure I didn't leave the stove on."

They left the tiny store with the ugly clothes shortly after that and received a tight smile and a wave from the woman behind the counter as the door closed behind them. They decided to go for coffee and walked down the busy city street with their arms linked.

"I wish I could find some decent sweaters," bemoaned Kurt as he scanned store windows. "It's September, so I'm guessing we'll have two more weeks of decent weather, but my end of summer ensemble can only last so long."

"I know, but you'll find a way to pull through."

"_Anyway_, tell me more about these hellions in your class. Can they sing?"

"Honestly?" Mercedes asked and when Kurt nodded, she laughed, "There will be no championships for this group. A few of them can sing, so I'll try to point them in the right direction… But our orchestra is really good this year, apparently, and I'm helping to get the music department straightened up."

"Whip 'em into shape!" Kurt executed a booty bump that she didn't return in fear of sending his skinny ass flying into the street.

"Right, but it's especially the Glee Club director Bryan Ryan's bummy ass that needs to get it together. I'm always doing his job – Oh my God!"

Mercedes had stopped abruptly and completely and would have been left behind had Kurt not been yanked back by their still linked arms.

"What is it?" Her expression crumpled into one of apology, so Kurt pouted. "No coffee?"

"No. I forgot I have to go to this shop and order these instruments Bryan Ryan's bummy ass was supposed to order weeks ago. I just remembered. I'm really sorry!" Kurt waved her off with a smile.

As they said goodbye and he pulled her into a hug, he said, "Don't fret over what Santana said. I don't know much about vaginas, but I'm positive yours will persevere. They're tough like that – I read somewhere that they're self-cleaning–"

"Okay Kurt. I'll see you soon."

Two air kisses later, he was off in one direction and she in another. She rushed to her car, cursing that she couldn't remember where she had left the instrument shop's address and that she would have to search for it. She hated wasting time and she had no idea if this stupid shop was even going to be open. Eventually, she found the address in her briefcase and was on her way.

When she pulled up to the _Sour Notes Guitar Store_, she was not impressed in the slightest with the school's budget concerning the arts. The store was too close to the freeway, almost on a side street, next to a dark alley, and she fully expected to be holla'ed at as soon as she climbed out of her car. She just shook her head, stilled her fury at the school and opened her door. It almost delighted her that she was wrong: she didn't get holla'ed at until she reached the door to the shop. Smiling amicably at the man, she pushed the lock button on her car keys again, walked into the store and was pleasantly surprised.

The jingling of the bells on the door had her automatically looking up, but the galaxies painted on the entire ceiling had her smiling widely. Kurt had once told her that dark ceilings gave a lowering effect to a room, but this black ceiling with its spattering of stars had her thinking of forever. After getting over how amazing the ceiling was, she gave a second smile when she noticed that the _Notorious K.I.M._ album was playing from somewhere in the shop. She assumed it was coming from wherever the cash register was, at least she hoped it was because there were so many guitar stands, aisles and columns that she was sure she would get lost if she didn't follow the dulcet tones of Lil' Kim.

In the few minutes she spent wandering aimlessly, she had changed her mind about how the school was spending its money. Sure, it could always give more to the music department, but it was intelligent enough to find a good bargain. The quality of every instrument Mercedes laid her eyes on was high, even the ones marked with used labels. When she finally reached something that looked like it could possibly be a space an employee was supposed to occupy, she frowned when she found no such employee. Loitering in the back room the door behind the counter led to, she presumed.

On the counter, next to the laptop blasting uncensored, old school Kim was a tiny bell. Mercedes rang it just to be cute, but was surprised when she heard a voice call out, "I'm coming! Be right out!"

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and folded her arms over her stomach as she waited. "Yes, take your time," she muttered, her eyes drifting back up to the ceiling. "It's not like I'm standing here waiting to give you money or anything."

"Sorry about that," the voice from the back said a minute later. Just as the voice's blond owner rounded the corner, Mercedes' eyes moved from the stars and onto him and they widened as they did so. He obviously hadn't taken a good look at her because he was fiddling with the lock on the door he had just emerged from and not gaping appreciatively at this Twilight Zone moment as she was. Instead, he tucked his keys into his back pocket and, as he turned, he said, "I was sorting through boxes of piano wire – OhmyGoditsyou."

Mercedes' mouth snapped closed, then dropped open again as she said, "You _would_ walk in here at this line."

Big Lip McGoldShorts asked, "What line?"

Lil' Kim answered, "_All I wanna do is get my pussy sucked._"

O0O0O0O0O

Sam snorted into his fist before rushing over to turn off the music – a decision he immediately regretted since it left the pair of them standing in complete and awkward silence. "Uh… Can I help you?"

The sudden crack of her laughter through the quiet had them both jumping in alarm. Embarrassment colored her expression and Sam couldn't help but smile when she tried to hide away behind her hands.

"Oh my God. This is not happening!" She peeked through her fingers as if to check if he was still there and he had to resist the urge to duck behind the counter and hide himself. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He let out his own nervous laughter with a shrug. "I own this place."

"Oh my God, no you don't," she laughed, her smile of denial only growing as she began to pace. He openly watched her progression from one end of the counter to another, fully enjoying the certain areas of her body that bounced. "You… I… You for real own this store?"

He nodded and offered a friendly smile. "Yeah… Can I help you?"

She froze for a moment, her only movement being a widening of eyes until she stepped forward and placed her hands flat on the counter. He tried not to smile at the memory of what those French tips felt like raking across his bare skin. "You own this store?"

"I do," he answered in a voice just as soft and careful as hers.

She took a deep breath and gave him a small smile that allowed him to release his own sigh of relief at her acceptance of the situation.

"I'm here about ordering my school some instruments. I have a list – My goodness, where is it?" she patted the pockets of her jacket and shuffled through her purse before pulling out a folded sheet of paper and setting it gently on the counter.

He took the list and read it, nodding, "Yeah, I think I can get all of this. Probably not until next week, though."

"Are we just going to pretend that you didn't give me a lap dance?" she huffed.

He looked up from the paper and smiled. "We don't have to."

He could tell that his direct gaze was making her nervous from the way she glanced around and crossed her arms, but he couldn't help it. She was too amazing. Her face was so animated he could easily guess at every thought and emotion flitting through her pretty little head.

"How are we supposed… to act?" she asked, licking her lips. He licked his own automatically before answering, "I don't really know. This is only like the third time this has happened to me." She burst into another fit of giggles and he found himself joining her.

"So awkward!" she said when she sobered once more. "Okay. Well, you gave me a very… _intimate_ dance the other night."

"I did."

"And now you're selling me instruments."

"I am."

"Alright."

"Okay." He smiled widely just so she would giggle again. "As I was saying, ma'am, I can get all of these by next week. You'll just have to fill out an order form."

She nodded and pulled a pen from her purse.

It was in that moment that Sam decided to seduce her.

He didn't know if it was because of the way the waves of her dark hair rolled forward as her head bent to search for the pen or if it was the way fluorescent light had caught on the gloss of her bottom lip. He didn't know if it was the fluttering of her lashes as she shot quick glances his way or if it was the way her chest rose and fell with her every breath. He didn't know if it was because he had learned how wonderful she felt in his arms a few days before or if it was just the act of seeing her clearly now, alone, in a room full of light instead of a lounge filled with cackling women and shadows.

"So, where is the form?" she asked, her smile small, but sweet. Yeah, he was going to seduce her.

"In the back. I'll go get it… You can come if you like." Oh yes, he was definitely going to seduce her.

"Okay." It was almost unfair, how much _seduced_ she was going to be.

O0O0O0O0O

"You can have a seat at that desk right there," he said, pointing Mercedes towards a large oak desk wedged into the small backroom's corner. She sat down carefully and watched as the blond shuffled through several boxes of paperwork stacked neatly on the wall next to the door. "Sorry about this."

"Don't worry," she assured him politely, forcing herself to look away from how nice his ass looked in his worn jeans.

He finally found the forms and carried them to her with a smile. "Sorry, I know I said it was only the one, but you gotta fill out separate ones for guitars and horns." She tried her best to ignore the way he leaned back against the desk as she looked over the forms, hovering over her casually with his hands in his pockets, stretching the fabric over his crotch. It was surprisingly hard for her to resist diving headfirst into the heavy bulge she was eye level with, as well.

Mercedes thought she was doing rather a good job of ignoring him _and his bulge_ until he crouched down next to her to instruct her how to fill out the forms. His soft, deep voice, with its slight southern lilt in her ear telling her which boxes to check and where to sign was doing more things to her than it should have. And it seemed the more that she responded to him, whether it be with a soft, "Yeah?" or a glance over her shoulder, the closer he got.

Finally, when he was completely surrounding her and literally guiding her hand, she stood abruptly and turned in his arms. His eyebrows raised in surprise. "The forms?"

"Stop trying to play me, fool. I know what you're doing."

With a smirk, he kicked the chair that served as their only barrier out of his way and crowded closer to her, trapping her between his arms by placing his hands flat on the desk. "And what am I doing?"

Mercedes took a deep breath and lifted her chin to meet his challenging gaze. "_You know_. You ain't slick and you ain't cute."

"I'm not?" he asked with a playful frown as he sidled up even closer.

"No, you're not. You're too obvious."

"I wasn't really going for subtle," he admitted with a shrug and she couldn't help but smile. He leaned forward to rub her nose with his. "I wanted you to know that I want you."

She closed her eyes as the rush of warmth from his words pleasured her. He took the action as a cue to nuzzle the corner of her mouth, but she told him, "I don't know you."

"I'm Sam," he said simply. "Did you forget?"

"Kinda… You don't know me."

He shrugged and said, "I know you have a nose ring."

"Your eyes are green," she replied.

"Mmm, they are," he hummed as his head tilted and his lips lowered to hers.

She turned her head in the last moment and he chuckled warmly against her cheek. "Don't kiss me, please."

He groaned again and glided his mouth across her skin until he could breathe against her neck, "Is this a Pretty Woman thing?" He leaned back a bit to catch her gaze. "Am I the Pretty Woman?"

"Oh my God, shut up."

"Alright, Missy." He opted to trace his hands up and down her sides instead. Pressing his forehead against hers, they both watched him carefully unbutton her jacket. He sunk his hands into the warm folds of it. Her shirt was silky, so it was fun to feel his fingers sliding all over her, from her waist to her breasts to her neck. He played with the idea of unbuttoning her blouse by tracing his fingers along the tiny fastenings before finally loosening her second button and dipping a long finger into the gap he created. As his finger followed the edges of her bra, she lifted her hands to clutch at his white t-shirt.

She could feel his free hand underneath her coat, rubbing circles into the small of her back and she moaned hotly against his mouth. "Sam…"

"Oh God," he said with a grunt. Then he moved both hands so they could cup her face. "You are so gorgeous." She didn't attempt to stop his kiss this time, only tipped her head back so they fit together better. "Sweet," he mumbled as he sucked the gloss off her lips and she murmured in agreement. The kiss _was_ sweet; his tongue was as eager as hers was shy, so it sunk into her in search of a deeper taste. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer so he could get that taste.

She felt his hips rolling against hers, attempting to rub that heavy bulge she'd fixated on against her core, so she wasn't stunned when his impatient hands lifted her by the waist and set her on top of the desk. She dropped her head back and moaned when their hot centers met, grinding through layers of fabric. He nipped up her neck until he could eat at her lips again and growled, "Wrap your legs around me."

Following his instructions only brought them closer and got them hotter.

"I want your juicy pussy, Lil' Missy. Tell me I can have it," he purred into her mouth and she nodded frantically. "Shit." He pushed a hand between them and cupped her where she was the hottest. He pulled away from their kiss so as to lock his gaze with hers. "These aren't jeans?"

"Jeggings," she gasped as his palm ground into her clit.

"That's a stupid word, but I fucking love these things." He kissed her again and then his hand was between her and her soaked panties. "No buttons!"

"Oh God!" Fuck her vibrator and her fingers – she was positive she could feel every ridge of his fingerprints as he pressed two digits against her clit and it was _so good_. "Sam!"

He set his forehead against her shoulder and nodded as if he understood her plight. "You are so wet. Should I make you come like this?" He glided his fingers along either side of her hard, little button and squeezed. He smiled at her squeal of delight and asked, "Or do you want me to put my fingers in you?"

"Yes!"

"Yes? Which one yes?" he asked, moving his fingers over her slick inner lips, past them so that they circled her hole. "Both?"

"You're the Devil, McGoldShorts," she whined as she attempted to wiggle away from him – she only succeeded in backing herself up against the wall. She frowned at him when he laughed at her, but didn't argue when he left her bare-assed on the desk by using his free hand to yank her jeggings and ruined panties to her thighs. He shuffled around the corner of the desk until he was standing next to her, pressing his face into the side of her own. She lifted her feet onto the desk so that her knees bent. He just smiled and pulled the clothes on her thighs lower until they were around her ankles.

She was too excited to feel ashamed at how readily her legs fell apart. Consecutive days of imagining this very man doing this very deed to her added up. The cool air of the room on her freshly bared sex would have been enough to drive her insane, but this demon seemed determined to do it himself. He whispered, "Oh, Lil' Miss, it's so pretty and gooey." When he pushed a finger into her, she thrust her hips forward to help its progress along. "Your cunny's so hot and tight. Want two fingers?"

Mercedes clutched at the man's shirt with a tight fist and nodded desperately. "Yes, please! Please, Sam! Please!"

Nodding, he caught her lips with his and gave her what she begged for. Another finger entered her and she gave grateful sobs into his mouth when his thumb began to play with her clit. He began curling his fingers and grinding his thumb against her _hard_. She reached out to grip his wrist and steadied his hand to she could control some of the movement herself. "Oh God!"

The violent trembling of her legs must have alerted him of something big approaching because he said, "Damn, you're already there, aren't you? Come on, Missy. Come for Sammy. Come for me."

She wanted to snap at him for having the _gall_ to think that he had the right to give her body permission to orgasm, but she couldn't… because she was coming. She buried her face in his neck, she screamed and she snapped her legs closed, trapping his hand between them. He held on tight to her through every twitch and shutter she gave, even as she clenched around him tight enough to bruise his fingers.

He kissed her as she lowered down from her high, her body lazy and warm. She allowed him to stroke her hair, murmur endearments into it, for a few minutes before she pulled away awkwardly. Of course, he wouldn't allow that to happen without further adding to the awkward himself. "I bet when I pull my fingers out, they'll look like raisins."

His comment, said absently without him even looking at her had her bursting into laughter for the umpteenth time. "You are so crazy."

"I know what you taste like now," he countered with a cocky smirk as he lifted his glossy, wrinkled fingers to his lips. She watched him suck them dry and tightened her legs at the twinge of want she felt despite the afterglow.

"You don't even know my name," she said after a moment of recovery. He shrugged and helped her off the desk. He bent to pull her pants up in one fluid motion, then kissed her nose ring once he straightened.

"I'll just call you Delicious."

O0O0O0O0O

**A/N:** I don't think that's what Mike meant by, "Reaching out to touch a stranger," in _Human Nature_, Sam. Just saying. Yup, so I don't think this chapter is as funny as the first, but be fair because strip clubs are friggin' hilarious and there was Kurt/Santana interaction in the first. I was going to write a scene with Mercedes' class, but then I realized that I don't give a fuck about them kids, so I didn't. I know I said something about sex, but now that the story has a plot I think I'll just gradually lead y'all into it. It'll still be really hot though, but I'll just build it up – like sex stages! We started with a lap dance, moved on to some fingering… Who knows where we'll end up? (And if you couldn't tell, I hate vibrators. The Devil's personal massager! Lol!) And question: if you began a sexual relationship with a stripper, would you tell your friends? Be honest. _**–DMH**_


	3. NNNanddaN

**Author's Note:** OddAngel gets THE BIGGEST of hugs! Thank you so much for what you said in your review! It helped a lot, as did all the other reviews. Seriously, you guys' feedback is so very helpful, keep it coming. And Jill1228 gets two snaps in a circle for being classy. I find myself liking this story more and more just because of all of y'alls reactions to it. "If the stripper was Sam, I'd tell my pastor." "If this story was a man … I would have sex with this story." Y'all are a mess and a half, forreals. I think someone requested Artie, so I shall see if I can find a way to get him into this story, which means I gotta flesh out the characters that are not named Mercedes and/or B.L. McGoldShorts. Someone else also said dry-humping so… Yeah. Kurt's a little mean in this chapter (just a tiny bit)… and he also turned into the Sassy Gay Friend for a second, sorry. Oh, and Chord Overstreet has some big ole hands… That has nothing to do with nothing, but I just wanted to make the unaware more aware. Your boy got some big friggin' hands. *wink wink* *nudge nudge* *cough cough* Big penis. _**–DMH**_

_This chapter is dedicated to one of my readers who was actually there when I first saw Sam/Chord on Glee. All I remember from that was that I was acting a hot ass mess and there may have been a locker room scene – I don't even remember which episode it was. Fangirling all over the place. ThisANissolong…_

O0O0O0O0O

Chapter Three:

_Naughty Noises, Numbers and da Nile_

O0O0O0O0O

The Nile.

A river in Egypt.

Approximately 4,132 miles long, 5 miles wide and over 6,000 feet deep.

And Mercedes Jones was drowning in it. Yes she was because _hell to the no she did _not_ just do everything her mother ever taught her not to do with a man_. She did not allow a stranger's hands all over her. She did not let a stranger take off her clothes. She did not just lose her mind at the tips of a stranger's fingers. She did not allow this man to call her _Delicious_. She was Mercedes Jones and people named Mercedes Jones do not _act that way_.

So Mercedes Jones buttoned up her blouse and she fastened her coat and she flipped her hair over her shoulder and she asked the stranger that _did not_ do all those nasty, perverted, _delicious_ things to her, "Are there any more forms I need to fill out?"

If Mercedes was drowning in the Nile, Sam was standing on the banks of it with floaties, she decided.

The poor, clueless man; he was completely unaware of the personification of nervous breakdown that she had become in that moment because her question was asked so softly and so politely. As if the pair of them had actually performed a business transaction and not tried Jesus by seeing how many sins they could stuff into this tiny backroom. She almost laughed, but stopped herself and asked the question again.

"Uh," he replied, carding a hand through his hair as his eyes searched the room wildly for an answer. Or her sanity. When either one didn't appear in thin air as he intended, he carefully moved around her to the desk and lifted up several sheets of crumpled paper. "Um… You may need to fill these out again."

She perused the damage her butt _had not_ committed and nodded. "Alright."

Wading into the water a bit, Sam said, "I'll just get you some new forms and you can fill them out back here while I just go… up front, I guess."

He went to the stack of boxes, handed her new forms and a pen, adjusted the erection in his pants and disappeared, lifting the weight of tension in the little room by one hundred percent. A minute later, she could hear Kim again, rapping about vaginas and whatnot until the music was abruptly changed and some safe Michael Bublé wafted into the room instead.

When she was done crossing the t's and dotting the i's on the brand new, _not_ butt-crumpled forms, she walked back out front and was surprised to see Sam talking to a man at the counter. Now, there were many ways to approach this awkward situation. She could just put the forms on the counter and leave without saying a word. She could tap Sam on the shoulder and, while his attention was grasped, stuff the papers in his hands and dash away. She could wait awkwardly by the backroom door and stare at his butt until he was finished.

Ding ding ding! That last one's a winner!

Sam shook hands with his customer and waved as the man exited the shop. He turned around once the bells on the front door stopped jingling and, upon seeing Mercedes, gave a slow, wicked smile. "All done?"

"Yes." She could have kicked herself at how little her voice sounded. It was one thing to know herself that his enviably green eyes turned her into goo, but it was another thing entirely to let _him_ know that. And the cockiness that slid into his grin let her know that he knew that she knew that he knew it. Before _she knew it_, he had backed her up against the doorjamb and was playing with the tips of her hair.

"You feeling better?" he asked and she nodded instead of reaffirming her insanity by licking his t-shirt or something like she should have. He leaned forward and nuzzled his nose against hers. "All finished with the forms?" After she nodded and waved the hand holding them absentmindedly, he suggested, "How about we put those somewhere safe and then we play a little bit more, hmm?"

She let out a low whine and slipped away from him, quickly ducking around the counter and setting the forms on top. "I actually have to go."

Once again, he seemed taken aback. "Oh. Well…"

"Yeah, so… I'm not the one who has to pick up the instruments, right?"

He stepped up to the counter and shook his head. "I'll call the school and schedule a time I can deliver them." She nodded and slowly began to back away. "Wait! Please, wait."

She watched him rip the corner off a random sheet of paper, then fumble around in search of a pen for a moment. When he found one, he scribbled on the paper and then handed the strip to her.

She glanced down at the paper, then immediately sent her eyes heavenwards. "Oh God, that's your phone number."

He nodded. "Yeah. Please, use it. Call me. Please?"

She opened her mouth to say something. Say what? She didn't even know, but she was grateful when a phone began to ring. He cursed and excused himself, pulling a cell out of his back pocket and turning away for a second.

And that second was all she needed to place the piece of paper with his number on the counter and book it out of the shop. Away from starry ceilings and legitimate orgasms and jegging-hate and green-eyed Sam-I-Am's.

O0O0O0O0O

Needless to say, she touched herself that night.

And she set the plastic abomination on her nightstand just so it could see how it's done.

O0O0O0O0O

The rest of the week proved uneventful until Friday night.

While sitting between Kurt and Mercedes at the edge of a bar in a popular club, nursing her second drink, Santana said, "I think Artie asked Brittany to marry him."

Luckily, Satan was brooding into her extremely alcoholic beverage and did not catch the silent look of horror Kurt sent Mercedes behind her back. Mercedes looked back at him pointedly, gesturing for him to address the touchy subject first, but he shook his head fiercely and gestured for her to do it. However, before either one could muster up the nerve, Santana sighed, "I invited them both down here."

"What?" they simultaneously gasped, throwing subtlety to the wind, and Santana jumped from being assaulted on both sides.

"You invited your girlfriend's _boyfriend_ down here for what, Santana?" Kurt asked.

Before she could answer, Mercedes shook her head and said, "I wonder how that conversation went. 'Yes, hi, I'm Santana and you don't know me, but I'm sleeping with your girlfriend and would you like to visit for tea?' What, girl?"

"Look at your life," Kurt said. "Look at your choices."

"It wasn't like that!" the Latina said, twisting a dark curl of her hair in her nervous fingers. "I talked to Brittany and I invited her to visit me next weekend and she told me that she wanted to bring _Artie_…" She trailed off at the name and her mouth twisted as she refused to let her eyes do anything more than gloss over. She then downed her drink. Quick in these types of situations as always, Kurt lifted his arm and snapped until he got the bartender's attention while Mercedes wrapped an arm around their girl. "She said she wanted to bring Artie so we could all talk. He finally just asked her. She's going to leave me."

"Talk?"

Santana nodded then suddenly shot a hand out to yank the drink from the bartender before he even set it on the bar. "Bring me another!" she snapped before tossing the glass back. Then she reached for Mercedes' martini and drank that, too.

"Santana, noooooooo," Kurt chided with a frown as he shook his head and waved the nervous bartender away. "These drinks are 12 dollars each…"

Mercedes frowned at him and rubbed a reassuring hand up and down Santana's arm. "Well, Brittany just said she wanted you all to talk. There's no need to jump to conclusions, right?" Santana nodded and turned to bury her face into Mercedes' cleavage. The diva sighed heavily and looked at Kurt. "I say we call it a night."

"Nnnnnn," Satan said, muffled by breasts.

"What was that?"

With a huff, she climbed out of her friend's ample bosom and jumped off the barstool. "I said that we should stay for a lil' bit longer."

"Oh really?" Kurt laughed as he stood as well. "I'm sorry. I couldn't hear it over that motorboat."

"Listen, if _I_ don't motorboat Mercedessss every once in awhile, who'll… who will?" Mercedes forced a smile on her face and the thought of a blond head nuzzling her chest out of her mind. "We sshhhould stay… Pick up some girlssss…"

"You forget, Satan," Kurt began as he and Mercedes tugged their hot mess in Manolos towards the door, "Mercedes is heterosexual, I'm homosexual and no one likes you, so we can't pick up girls."

Mercedes saw the pout forming on Santana's lips and smacked Kurt on the arm. "Stop messing with her! We need to get out of the door before her ass makes anything more complicated than it needs to be."

"Complicated?" Weepy, Hysterical Drunk burst out, just as they reached the exit. She yanked away from them, her face twisted and red, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm not complicated! I'm simple! And all I want to do is get drunk and fuck bitches!"

"Fuck yeah!" some random guy shouted and before Drunk Satan could respond and start a fight, Mercedes yoked her up by the arm and tugged her out of the bar. She was so mad, she didn't even check if Kurt was behind her as she stomped towards her car, her hand tight around the wrist of She-Who-Must-Not-Drink-In-Public-Anymore.

It took ten minutes to stuff Sloppy Mess into the backseat, but Kurt didn't approach the car until Mercedes' had safely shut the door with the child locks. She didn't have the heart to peer through the window and see her girl staring back up to her like an abandoned puppy, so she rounded on Kurt instead. "And where the hell were you?"

"Someone had to pay the bartender!" he snapped back.

She only rolled her eyes and walked around the car towards the driver's seat. "Santana's going to stay with me tonight," she said over the car's roof. "You wanna come?"

"Only if we're not talking about Brittany."

"Kurt! How can you say that?"

"I'm sorry," he said, belying the statement by making his "I don't give a shit" face. "But I'm just not up to talking about the same thing with her and giving the same advice that we've given to her year after year. She doesn't listen!"

Mercedes dropped her face into her hands, ignoring that in the process of doing so she had accidently slapped herself in the nose with her clutch and focusing on the fact that Kurt was somewhat correct instead.

Since before the trio even became friends, as early as the first days of high school in Lima, Santana had been in love with the very blonde Brittany Pierce – not that she would have admitted it. It wasn't until their senior year that they were completely honest and open about their relationship, much to the joy of every young man who enjoyed watching two cheerleaders make out in the hallways between classes. The real problems did not start until college.

Brittany decided to travel to New York to pursue dancing instead of going to Ohio State with Santana. It had taken an entire summer of fighting, several large tubs of ice cream and the combined shoulders of Kurt and Mercedes to cry on in order to help the Latina accept the inevitable. So the trio, who had grown closer in the process of comforting Santana, all went to OSU, Brittana parted ways and Satan went to work tempting sorority girls into the experimental college phase.

All was good until the spring break of junior year that Santana spent in New York. And that was followed by the summer in New York. Followed by the year in New York…

And with each trip, came new drama. Brittany had always been one to make friends easily and, as a tall, pretty girl with a talent for dance all alone in New York, she made many fast friends and attracted many who wanted to be more than friends. She had friends, she had girlfriends, she had boyfriends and she had lovers; all of whom she would drop whenever Santana came to visit.

So the pair of them functioned in a way that horrified Kurt – while escorting Santana on a New York trip, he had met a young man named Blaine who was in a Broadway show.

_Love took flight_ and Kurt could not legitimately understand the "I love you when I see you" approach of Brittana. He first urged Santana to adopt a relationship similar to the one he had with his distant boyfriend; late night phone calls, frequent flyer miles and monogamy. Santana, of course, refused by saying, "I'm sorry, but at this point in time, your opinion is less valuable to me than the randomly operatic part of the Jay-Z and Kanye West classic, 'Ham'." Still, Kurt continued to persist and Santana continued to refuse while Mercedes watched from the sidelines, not taking either side.

Neither of her friends could fault Mercedes for not taking a stance on the issue, especially Kurt who felt he was winning even without her help because of the downward spiral that was Brittana. As soon as Artie entered the picture, Kurt was convinced that Santana would find some way to stop the drama – either by leaving Brittany or claiming her exclusively. She did neither.

Instead, she told Kurt and Mercedes more and more about Artie as she learned more and more from Brittany. Her voice would be cool or flat, but her hands would clench or her feet would tap as she told them that Artie was the director of a show Brittany was in or how Artie was taking Brittany out to meet and greets or how Brittany compared her first time with Artie with her first time with Santana. And then Artie became the one person that Brittany wouldn't drop for Santana. And then Santana stopped going to New York altogether.

It was painfully obvious that Santana was not happy with her relationship. Mercedes even felt the need a time or two to step in and suggest that she do something to change how things were going, but Santana refused. Kurt did not make suggestions, only stated what he thought to be fact because, at this point, all relationships were measured in comparison to the one he had with Blaine and Santana's was a failure on the Klaine scale. So, to avoid issues within the trio, Mercedes would purposefully steer their conversations clear of any Brittany talk and she encouraged Santana to speak only to her about any issues. And Santana had agreed, so everything had gone smoothly… until this night.

Mercedes decided to fume silently as she drove home despite Kurt's huffs of annoyance or turning up of the music every time Santana so much as sniffled.

When they finally got to her apartment, Mercedes immediately went to make popcorn as Santana and Kurt hustled into her room to steal t-shirts and sweatpants to sleep in. They spent the remainder of the night curled up against each other on the couch watching/quoting the shit out of _Mean Girls_, _Bring it On_ and _Clueless_.

Drunk Satan found a way to cry at the end of all of them.

O0O0O0O0O

A little past midnight the next night, three days AS (After Sam)… maybe ASS (After Stripping Sam), Mercedes didn't even bother opening her nightstand drawer. She just stared at it, knowing that her vibrator was in there, vibrating in triumph over her suffering.

"Girl, you are stupid and you deserve each and every horrible orgasm you have until your vagina tells you to get a cat, you become _Hoarders_-famous and you die," she told the ceiling as she lay back across her bed. "Why did you leave his number on the counter? Why? He could be in bed with you right now, doing nasty things with those big, juicy lips. But no. You decided that you were – Why am I talking to myself?"

Mercedes sat up straight in her bed and was mindful to say, "Hell to the naw" in her head. Tonight was not the night she was going to go crazy from forced celibacy. She climbed out of her bed and went to shower. That day had been a lazy Saturday, spent kicking Kurt and Santana out, making lesson plans for her classes and catching up with everything on her DVR. In short, she looked a hot mess, so she used her expensive body wash, shaved important areas, plucked her eyebrows, cocoa buttered, threw on some purple leggings, a black t-shirt and a loose, white tank long enough to cover her butt and pretended her weave looked good enough for public viewing by putting on a hat.

Then she grabbed her car keys, her purse and her jacket and she took her ass down to _The Crooked Pony Gentlewoman's Club_.

It looked exactly as it had when Kurt and Santana had dragged her to it a week ago; low ceilings, dark walls, rhythmic, thumping, awful music and neon purple lights. Smoke floated from the stages into the lounge area, just to give it that "you shouldn't touch anything in here" feel that the plastic, leopard print seat covers just couldn't convey properly on their own. As disgusting as it was, she couldn't fault her friends for taking her here. Purple, animal print and naked guys – what's not to love?

"_Coming to the stage… Andy Konda!_"

"Oh Jesus." She was barely in the room and she already turned to leave, several reasons why being there was a bad idea flashing through her head. She was almost to the door when a large wall of dark, coconut oiled muscle walked into her path.

"Where you going, baby?"

She craned her neck back and all she could properly see of the man's face in the dark room was his bright, white smile. "You are the biggest, blackest man I've ever seen in a lime green banana hammock."

"Thank you," he said as smoothly as if he had been given this statement everyday as a compliment. He moved to wrap a greased up bicep around her, but she quickly stepped back. "What's wrong?"

She smiled sweetly and looked anywhere but him. "Nothing, I'm just about to head out."

"Why? You came in here alone," he said, getting into her personal space. He bent down a bit so that she could see that he had blue contact lenses. She shivered in silent terror at the sight. "You obviously came here looking for something… Let me help you find it."

"I have no idea why I'm so surprised to be sexual predator-ed in here of all places," she said. He scrunched up his face in confusion for a second, so she darted around him while he was distracted by that and bumped into Sam. "Sam!"

"Hey Missy," he said with a slow smile. He looked over her shoulder and frowned. "Hey Charles, man, I got this."

The Crisco Giant, _Charles_, crossed his arms over his chest with a huff and marched away. Mercedes turned in Sam's arms to ask a question, snapped her mouth closed when she noticed she was in his arms again, pressed herself fully against him and then asked her question. "Charles?"

"His stage name is Buck Chuck," Sam said with a shrug, wrapping his hands around her wrists and smoothing her palms down his chest, under the silky, gold vest he wore. "God, I'm glad to see you, Lil' Miss."

Mercedes ducked her head and smiled. "Me too."

"So, where are your friends? Let me escort you to your table."

"Um…" How could she explain this without sounding like a horny slut? "My friends aren't here?"

"They're not?" he asked as she fiddled with the string tie on the front of his tight, silky color-coordinated shorts. She ran a finger up from there to his navel and he trembled.

"Nope."

Realization made his voice slightly giddy. "So you're all alone."

"Yes."

"And you came to see me?" She took a deep breath and nodded. She glanced up at him briefly and released her deep breath in relief. He was looking at her the same way he had in his shop; his eyes were noticeably darker, his mouth was set in a straight, serious line and… and he was doing this sexy jaw thing she had never noticed before, but suddenly gave her the urge to lick him all over. "I'm going to give you a private dance," he announced, sliding his fingers in hers and pulling her to the side of the club.

His butt looked amazing in those shorts. "Wait, what?"

He took her to a wall full of violet curtains and reached up to pull one back. Behind it was a small space filled with a curved, leather booth seat. He pulled her into the area and yanked the curtain closed behind him. She could only stare at him in wonder as he slid off his vest and let it drop from his body onto the floor. "You wanna touch me?"

"Yes."

O0O0O0O0O

Sam took her hands and guided them over his smooth, pale skin, taking his time to have her rub circles around his tight, pink nipples. Casually, he pulled her closer and wrapped her arms around himself. He bit back the urge to tell her that he had been dreaming of her hands on his body all week and directed her hands to his behind. She gave him a small but firm squeeze that made him smile, so he rubbed his nose against hers and told her to take a seat. Once released from his grip, she didn't even turn around to take her seat, opting instead to drift backwards like a zombie until her legs bumped against it and she plopped down.

He smiled at her dazed expression and moved closer to her, his thumbs hooked into the hem of his shorts. "On or off?" he asked her.

"Yes," she replied, her eyes wide.

"Off?" She nodded and he kicked his boots off then slowly pulled his shorts down. As gracefully as he could, he kicked the fabric off of his ankles, but he was pretty sure that her attention was elsewhere. His body had hardened from the moment he first saw her walk into the club and it only hardened more as she stared at him. "You wanna touch me?" She shook her head this time and he chuckled at her shyness. "How about you take off the purse and jacket for me, Missy?"

Her eyes finally lifted to his as she nodded then stripped out of the jacket. Watching her take off her clothes, even something as simple as a coat, had his erection twitching, especially when all her delicious cleavage was revealed, so he reached down and stroked his hand slowly across his length.

"Oh God," she whispered, pressing her legs together tight.

He was careful not to get himself too excited and only gave himself a few more strokes before straddling her lap. She automatically pressed herself back against the leather, so he placed his hands on top of the booth so that his body loomed over hers, all around hers. Digging his knees into the seat, he thrust his pelvis forward so that his dick was pressed against her soft stomach, just under her breasts. Closing his eyes in pleasure, he rolled his hips and groaned.

Her hands were stroking up and down his sides and would occasionally slide around his hips to direct the way he moved his body. She was pulling him lower and lower until he was practically sitting on her lap, rubbing his balls over the mound her tightly closed legs and clothing kept hidden from him. He lowered his head to nuzzle her neck, breathing in her scent of vanilla and… Oh God, what was it?

"I'm not having sex with you… here."

Sam had to hold back a groan, so he chuckled instead and pointed towards the ceiling. "Look up there, that's a camera. I can't even kiss you or else I'll get fired. Don't be scared," he whispered into her hair. "I won't do anything to you." The _yet_ hung enticingly unspoken between them. He stood and told her to spread her legs. She was a bit hesitant, but that did not deter him from lifting her legs up by the knees and climbing back onto the seat. His own knees were digging into the leather once more as he dropped her legs over his thighs and rubbed his hands across them. "I like these," he said.

"My leggings?" she asked, trying to keep her eyes open and focused on the erection bobbing between them.

"Yeah, I like the fabric."

Making a frustrated noise, she grunted, "Why are we talking about my clothes?"

"Because I'm thinking about how this would feel against my cock." There was a hitch in her breathing as he moved his body closer, pulling her up his lap as he did so until his naked length was pressed against her heat. "Oh yeah… It feels fucking nice. Roll your hips with me, baby."

When she wrapped her arms around his shoulders with a low moan, he took the opportunity to bury his face in her neck again. He liked the way she whined when he grinded himself into her, so he pushed harder. He could feel her hard, little button through her leggings, trailing against the sensitive skin of the underside of his dick. He loved the way she panted when she wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing them closer, grinding them together harder.

She was driving him insane with her noises and the way she had soaked through her tight little pants. He was trying his hardest not to come, but he couldn't help but imagine how tight and hot she would be around him. The memory of having his fingers inside of her was still fresh in his mind, as was the memory of how sweet her mouth was. He turned his head to kiss her deeply and, as close as they already were, she seemed to melt into him, grabbing at his hair, humping her hips up into his. It was easy to turn them over and pull her into his lap; she followed him like a shadow.

"Show me how you'd ride me," he told her and she did. He pulled her down for another kiss as she pushed her groin into his and it got harder and faster and better.

"Sam," she whispered, sounding like heaven. "Sam… Samsamsam…"

Abruptly, he stopped her hips, more for his benefit than hers and, in her ear, he whispered, "Six, one, four…"

The wild light in her eyes that appeared when he stopped only grew brighter as she stared down at him, aghast. "What?"

"I said, 'Six, one, four'," he repeated slowly and she glared at him.

"Why?"

"You left my number on the counter. I'll let you come when you memorize it." He was grateful for the pout that lowered her lips back down to his and he said, "Six, one, four…"

"Six, one, four," she repeated as he allowed her hips to roll once more. The numbers following were repeated against his lips in soft little whimpers while she pumped her hips back and forth, grinding her clit into him. Soon, she was saying the number all by herself without any prompting and he couldn't resist chuckling when she got stuck on, "Two. Two-two-two! Twooooooooooo – Oh!"

He palmed her ass and began to yank her against him, praying that she would come soon because he couldn't take it. He was about to explode. He had started seeing colors that didn't exist behind his eyes and each of her moans felt like velvet and tasted like wind chimes and nothing made sense, but this was everything he fucking needed and he wanted to come – God he wanted to come… And then she was coming, in waves. She shuddered against him, starting with a heavy tremble in her thighs that jolted towards her eyes, rolling them back as her nails bit into his shoulders. He allowed himself a sliver of blasphemy; he on level footing with God because she was calling out both names equally. She collapsed against him and it took everything in him not to continue thrusting, not to rip the wet cloth that separated them apart and sink into tight, wet, sizzling oblivion…

He kissed her instead. First on the lips, then on her neck and the tops of her breasts as she tilted her head back. She was sobbing out her pleasure, kneading it into his skull with the sound of it and he found that he was satisfied despite his body's protests. He licked her neck as she tried to calm her panting. Vanilla and… Vanilla and what?

She must have been staring at the ceiling because she asked softly, "This place can afford security cameras?"

He snorted. "Well, no, so those're fake. All the guys just point them out when they don't want to have sex with a lady."

"So they do have sex in here."

"Not me. Never me, ma'am. Unless that was just sex…"

"So you lied."

"Yup," he agreed shamelessly, tugging down her t-shirt and tank and kissing the edge of lace he revealed. "You mad?"

She giggled, kissed his forehead and said, "I guess not."

A few lazy kisses later, he peeled himself away from her, careful not to do anything else to disturb his painful erection and he stood, walking to his shorts to yank them on. "You memorized my number?" She nodded and shot off the digits quickly, timidity filling her features as she did so. "Use it this time?"

She nodded again and stood herself. He watched her, bemused, as she attempted to straighten herself up, pulling her knit hat back on, smoothing her hands over the stretched out fabric of her shirt. When she fastened her jacket, he escorted her out from behind the curtain and walked her to the exit. He stroked a hand down her cheek as he said goodbye and turned away.

"Hey! I didn't… That dance… Don't you want money?" she called out behind him.

"I was on break," he called back over his shoulder as he strode away.

O0O0O0O0O

**A/N:** Maybe I'll be nice and let Sam come next chapter. Or maybe not until he stops being Ain't Shit. Because Sam Ain't Shit and everybody knows it. That drunken Santana scene was supposed to be funny, but then my old friend, Subplot Exposition, popped up. Oop. But I reread everything I wrote with the voice of Mary Alice from Desperate Housewives in my head, so that made it funny to me.

So last chapter, I edited out something because I don't want to upset anyone and I understand that not everyone has the same experiences/vernacular as me. I just wanted to say, if any of you find fault with, feel uncomfortable with, want to question or take offense to something I've written, please _please_ _**please**_ let me know. There's a review button and a PM system for critiques. If you gotta check me, then come check me, boo. As long as I'm respected, I can't rationally get angry. Just please don't let me see you criticizing _my work_ to everyone else _but me_ on some other website because that's not helpful to anyone. See y'all next chapter – where there will be mouth sex. _ThisANwasjustaslong…_ _**–DMH**_


	4. KK

**Author's Note:** Three things: 1) Y'alls' reviews give me life. This has got to be the funniest fandom hands down, 2) B/C of y'all, in story, ASS stands for After Stripping Sam. Out of story, ASS stands for Ain't Shit Sam, and 3) Today (3/23) is my birthday! So I decided to treat myself and y'all by getting a little-lot more freakier with this chapter. This chapter is long and I made my own damn self blush while writing it and I'm shameless so … there's your warning. _**–DMH**_

O0O0O0O0O

Chapter Four:

_Kinky Kisses_

O0O0O0O0O

"If I remember the number tomorrow morning, I'll write it down," Mercedes told the ceiling for the seventh time as she lay in bed five days ASS. If her walls could talk, they would have told her that she was full of shit today, bullshitting yesterday and to have a seat the day before. The number was memorized, plain and simple. She was never going to forget it, just as she would never forget the little encounter in the strip club… or the one in the backroom… or the other encounter in the strip club. There was really no point in playing this little game other than to stall.

So she fell asleep under a ceiling that would be giving her judgmental looks if it could and woke up with Sam's digits on her lips. Again.

She hummed them to the tune of "Uprising" in the shower. She sang them to the melody of "Colors of the Wind" as she fixed herself breakfast. She rapped them to the beat of "Rack City" while she drove to school. They were in the back of her mind as she dealt with every smartass and class clown throughout the day and they were just as firmly cemented in her mind when she got home as when she had left.

She prayed about it.

She played Devil's Advocate with it.

She asked her Magic Eight Ball.

And then she saved it into her phone under "He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Called."

She sat down on her couch and watched the beginning of a news program.

And then she called him fifteen minutes later.

"Sour Notes Guitar Store. Sam speaking. How may I help you?" Was his voice really that deep? How could she not remember that? Was his body really that distr – Yes, yes it was _exactly_ that distracting. "Um, hello?"

"Hi!" she squeaked now that she was completely jolted out of her stupor. "Hi, Sam."

"Hi… Is this a personal call?" Personal call? What the hell did that mean? Did he use his work number for other kinds of work? Did he sell drugs? Was he a male escort? _Did he work for the government? Was he a spy?_ "Hello?"

"Oh! Sorry… Yes, this is a personal call. Sorry. This is Mercedes."

He was very silent for a few moments – just enough moments to make her want to hang up the phone and climb under her bed in shame. "Are you…"

Of course he didn't know who the hell she was. He didn't even know her name. This was a horrible idea. "Yes, I… I met you a couple weeks ago, I guess. At your… _other_ job… and we… interacted."

"And I fantasize about you regularly now? Yes, I remember… Do you remember Saturday night?" he teased, his already deep voice getting deeper, already arousing the attention of her nether regions.

"Okay, that's enough." She took a deep breath as he chuckled then said, "Yeah, so I'm Mercedes."

"_Mercedes_. I like that."

"I liked how you said it." She stared at the phone for a quick second to check if she was on a conference call. Surely she didn't say that out loud. However, he didn't seem to mind at all.

"Mercedes. Mercedes. Mercedes."

"Ooo, and it tingles me." He gave a very dark chuckle that delighted her in the most perverse of ways. Using _The Lion King_ to flirt could now be crossed off her bucket list. Next in line, "banging a stripper".

"I'm glad you called me," Sam said. "I was beginning to think you forgot my number and I was kinda disappointed because I _worked so hard_ to help you remember it."

At this point of the conversation, her clit, already alerted by the sound of his voice, was thrumming. Sometime between "Sam speaking" and him saying her name, she had stretched herself across the couch on her back and unbuttoned the first few buttons on her blouse, so now her hand was free to fiddle with the necklace between her breasts, using the cool gold to trace along the lace of her bra. "I remembered."

"I want to see you."

She couldn't hold back the moan his voice and words incited. No one had ever affected her this way. No one had ever talked to her this way. His tone was filled with such pure desire, was so thick with lust… She knew he would be touching her if he was with her. A few more buttons were unfastened. "Okay."

"How are we going to do this?"

"Hmm?" she hummed, stroking her stomach.

"My place? Your place? Strip club? Backroom? Car? Park bench? Grocery store? The line at the DMV?"

"Oh God, stop it," she giggled, grateful for the distraction of laughter that kept her hand from creeping into her jeans. "Um… where do you live?"

"Above my store there's a studio apartment." She frowned at those words – she wasn't so sure she trusted her car not to get stolen in that area. Then again, she also was not sure if she wanted this man to know where she lived. Then again, this man had already touched her vagina and she didn't even know his last name, so she couldn't really blow off something that was just as equally reckless.

"I live on King St.," she said softly.

"Would you like me to come over?"

"I think that I would like that very much."

O0O0O0O0O

Mercedes had to ask herself the age old question:

Does one have to clean the house for a booty call?

She contemplated this over dinner as she stared at her living room from the bar in her kitchen. Her sewing kit was still in the corner from when Santana had come over on Monday demanding she fix a tiny scarf of Lord Tubbington's she had "accidentally" ripped after talking on the phone with Brittany. Also, covering one chair was an array of fabrics Kurt had yanked out of her closet once he strolled into her apartment and saw her sewing machine out. It didn't look too bad, she decided, even with the mannequin covered in the Lady Gaga/feline inspired mess her friends had created with pins and rainbow leopard print spandex standing lopsided in the corner.

Her bedroom was another story. A comedic story. And a tragedy. As always, it seemed as if her closet had exploded. She had music books, magazines, lesson plans and newspapers everywhere. And her bed was nothing more than a nest of black, white and purple comforters with an impression of her body in the middle. She pushed all her clothes into her closet and under her bed as best as she could, piled the papers on her desk and Febreze'd everything even though she knew it didn't stink.

There. Her room now smelled like New Zealand… according to the label.

She didn't know what time Sam was coming over, just that he said he would see her after he closed shop, so she rushed her shower, threw on some lacy draws and a nightie then walked into sprays of three different perfumes. She was lotioning her feet when a knock echoed through her apartment. She quickly hopped up, grabbed a pillow, screamed into it before tossing it back onto the bed and casually made her way to the front door, walking slowly only because she didn't want him to hear her running across the floor to get to him. With a deep inhale and exhale, she lifted onto the tips of her bare toes and looked through the keyhole.

He was out there, all tall and blond and biting his lip.

She considered not opening the door for a split second, all types of questions running through her mind about what to think of him, what to think of herself, what to think of this decision, etc. After that second, she pasted a smile on her face – she was not going to let tonight be a regret, she decided – and she opened the door.

"Hi," she welcomed, stepping back a bit so he could step into the apartment. He didn't move immediately. Instead, he stood frozen in the doorway, his smile of greeting melting away at the heat filling his eyes. The color green felt like silk, she mused, as that gaze smoothed up and down her not once, but several times. He licked his lips and the panties she had pulled on not even ten minutes before were ruined. "Do you want to come in?"

"Yeah," he said softly. She gave him space to move past her so she could close and lock the door, but squeaked with surprise as he pushed up against her side, pressing kisses into her hair as she was pressed against the wall. "You look amazing," he whispered along her hairline, trailing his mouth from her ear to her temple to her forehead. His hands were skating across the silky material of her short nightie, fisting parts of it so that it lifted from falling just at the spot above her knees to barely skimming the tops of her thighs. By the time his mouth met hers, he had discovered her ass, palming it through the thin fabric. Forgoing all suspicions that he might consider for once going slow, he reached under her clothes in search of bare skin. Both of his hands were soon wedged between her and her underwear, his long fingers splayed so they could massage and squeeze her cheeks playfully while he sucked her tongue and grinded himself against her.

He definitely had a talent for both multitasking and over-stimulating her.

It took everything in her not to slam her head back into the wall when he suddenly dropped to his knees. Disinterest in anything that was not the feel of him lifting her nightie and pressing kisses to the front of her panties kept her from immediately noticing a few things: a) his broad body had been very effective at blocking the intrusive light from the hallway when he had been plying her with kisses and b) if she could see the light in the hallway, her door must be open.

_Her door was still open!_

Her gasps and moans and the dirty little words were floating out of her apartment and into a public area! Anyone could walk by and see her bracing herself against a wall with a man buried in the lingerie between her legs!

She tried to jerk away, but Sam was too quick for her, quickly reaching up to cup her butt again and press her further onto his face.

"Sam!" she said in a fierce whisper. "Sam, the door is still open!"

The blond head almost lifted away from her, but he only shrugged his shoulders and used the strong muscle of his tongue to massage her through her underwear.

"Shit Sam! Sam! God! Stop, please! Please!" she wailed, reaching down to tangle her fingers in his hair and push him back into her when he actually attempted to heed her pleas and demands. The shape of his lips was forever imprinted on her memory when he began to suck. He didn't even try to push her panties to the side, only found her clit through them and then went to town. The resulting knee buckle did nothing to deter him, as well; it only seemed to up his enthusiasm as he carefully pulled her down to the floor and stretched himself out on his stomach.

"Oh God! Oh God!" she gasped to the ceiling, who would have been so proud if it had the ability. She desperately humped his face until he lifted away with a crooked curve of those cherry-red lips. Her excited heart only thumped harder as he pulled the sticky lace away from her, down her thighs, and told her, "What soaked through your panties already tasted so fucking good – I can't wait until you come on my tongue."

The phenomenon of her legs falling so completely open had never before happened; as if a button was pressed that made her go from zero to spread eagle in six seconds. It stunned her and amused him. With one last quick grin, he lowered his face to that _bare_, _pretty_, _juicy_ _pussy_ he kept muttering to himself about. God, she wanted it so badly.

And then she heard the elevator arrive with a ding. She bolted upright and yanked his head up, pleading to him with her eyes. With a growl, he reached over and slammed the door shut.

"Lay down." She complied and was rewarded with a long, slow swipe of tongue along the length of her slit. The sound she let out had her praying that whoever had gotten out of the elevator was no longer in the hallway because she was being so loud, she knew she would be heard, closed door or not.

"So pink and perfect," he muttered after opening her to him. She was sure he mumbled something else, but was soon sidetracked from caring when his mouth lowered to get acquainted with her. His tongue began by tracing circles around her eager button. Then he transitioned to flicking it with just the tip of that talented organ before finally deciding to just engulf it with his plump lips and suck until she was ready to beg him for any and everything.

She was so close so soon and she wailed the sentiment to an enraptured ceiling as an orgasm… _the_ orgasm came crashing through her. Days afterwards, she would be asking herself if it had been the right thing to do grab him by the ears, grind herself firmly against his strong chin as he pushed her button the right way while screaming down at him that he had to be The Tempter, but then she would remember the way he lifted his face – the entire bottom half of it shining with wetness – and smiled his crooked smile.

She was sure her wet underwear was going to be no help to him, but still found pleasure in watching him use the lace to try to wipe up. Finally, he gave up and crawled across the floor to climb over her and press gentle, tangy-sweet kisses to her mouth. He pulled away slowly and whispered, "Hi, Mercedes."

"Hi," she greeted again, rubbing her hands across his shoulders, thinking that Sam had the most fabulous way of saying hello she had ever experienced. "Would you like me to take your coat?"

Confusion flitted through his gaze, so she tugged on the brown leather with a giggle, hoping he would take a hint. He burst into embarrassed laughter when he did, pushed himself up to his knees and shrugged out of the coat. He tossed it in the direction of the hooks by the front door then pulled her into his lap. "Sorry about that. I just couldn't help myself. You look so gorgeous in this."

She had to murmur her thanks against his lips because he was kissing her again, soft, tiny, closed-mouth pecks that made her want to whine for even more of his tongue despite just getting more than enough of it for three lifetimes. The infuriating little kisses travelled to her neck and chest. She felt him cup her breasts through the silk of her lingerie, his hands admiring her body with light squeezes.

"I really like this," he said after kissing the silk right above one of her nipples.

"You do?" she asked, mesmerized.

"Yeah… Take it off."

She had to unfist her hands from where they clutched at his striped t-shirt in order to catch his wrists before he could peel away her nightgown. "Sam, we're on the floor," she reminded him as he tried to distract her with more kisses. "I have a bed. A big bed."

"Mmm, I _do_ want to fuck you in a big bed," he agreed as he stood, lifting her so easily and suddenly that she instinctively wrapped herself tight around him, eyes wide with amazement. Yes, this man definitely did squats.

"Lock the door," she moaned into the kisses she placed against the side of his throat. He maneuvered them to the door so he could do as she requested and then marched them into the living room.

"Where…?" She pointed him in the right direction and soon he was dropping her in the middle of the bed, losing his clothes so quickly that she was sure he had a stripper superpower and hopping into her nest of comforters with her. "It smells good in here. Just like New Zealand."

"Really?" she asked, giddy excitement filling her.

With a goofy smile, he shrugged. "I dunno. I just read it on that bottle."

She glanced over her shoulder at the Febreze on the nightstand and slapped his arm playfully. "You're silly."

"You're sexy," he countered. She could feel him smiling into their next kiss and couldn't help but smile herself. Sam was fun. His goofy grins made her grin. His corny lines made her snort. He gave her Eskimo kisses and tickled her sides as he pulled the nightie up and off over her head, laughing as she laughed. But their giggling died down and faded away as he looked at her, sitting gloriously nervous in her glorious nakedness.

Did he like her body? Her breasts? Did he still want her? The only light was coming from a small lamp on her nightstand, but could he see her stretch marks? Did he hate them? Was he turned off? Did he –

A sudden huff of air from him alerted her to the silence that had filled the room so immensely when they both had stopped breathing. She forced herself to inhale and exhale as he cupped her bare breasts and he seemed to be doing the same thing himself. "Sweet Baby Jesus," she moaned when his thumbs kneaded her nipples to hardness. It was hard to keep her eyes focused and linked with his through the pleasure, but she made herself do it because his eyes were telling her everything she needed to hear in that moment. They swept away all those stupid, high school doubts concerning her attractiveness that always seemed to creep up at her at the worst of times. They told her that she was beautiful and sexy and wanted and Oh God, his tongue felt so good right there. Her eyes finally rolled back. "Sweet Prepubescent, Acne-Ridden Jesus."

He chuckled against her chest, giving her goosebumps of pleasure all over and suddenly her pussy was on full alert once more.

"Sam, please?" Reaching for his neck, she pulled him down on top of her, between her spread thighs, skin to skin... and then her cell rang. And Sam, the big freak that he was, told her to answer it as he nibbled the underside of one of her boobs. "Nuh-uh. I don't know what movie you think this is, but I'm not letting you get away with that crazy kinky stuff. There will be none of that."

"What do you mean?" he lifted his head and asked as the phone stopped ringing.

"Don't play innocent!" He flashed a sweet smile anyway as he nuzzled her chest and stared dreamy-eyed up at her, awaiting her explanation. "You know in movies when the girl is on the phone with family or something or sitting at a dinner table full of people and the guy… _plays_ with her and teases her and tries to get her to moan and embarrass herself or something in front of everyone. If you try that with me, I'll pop you."

"Now that sounds real interesting. What kinda movies have _you_ been watching, Missy?"

"Hush," she giggled, but she quickly frowned as her phone began ringing again. Before she could move herself, he reached over, plucked it off the charger and looked down at the lit up screen.

"_Kurtsie_ is calling you," he said, dropping the phone in the hand she held out to him. She waited until it stopped ringing and, with a sigh as it started up again, pressed "accept". Sam was snickering silently at her when she answered, "Hello Kurt. I am busy."

"Hi Diva! We'll only be on the phone for a minute. I'm just calling because I decided that, since the weather was so nice today, I was going to reward it by being eco-friendly – _Eco-besties!_ – with it and ride the bus to pick up coffee because I'm working late – thus saving gas money _and_ my parking spot from that one guy who always tries to get it no matter what time of day –"

"Kurt, I'm busy."

"Give me a minute, hun. I've got a good reason!"

"Fine," she sighed, prepping herself for the long story with a roll of her eyes. Sam smiled down at her then lowered himself so he could brush her chin with his mouth.

"So, I'm being kind to the environment, riding the bus with common folk and this… _man who looks like Bigfoot's older brother _takes the seat across from mine and is staring at me. So I texted Blaine a few times to ignore him, but I could still feel him staring."

Sam lowered himself on top of her again until his body was flush against hers. A roll of his hips momentarily pulled her away from Kurt's story – and the rest of the universe – but she took a deep breath to steady herself and poked him hard in the shoulder. She barely avoided laughing at his silent, comedic expression of pain.

"Are – Uh, um… Are you still on the bus?"

"No, I'm at the coffee shop waiting for them to remake my order with whipped milk. _Anyway_! Guess who followed me inside – The Bigfoot's Brother Man. He followed me off the bus and he's across the room now, but he keeps looking at me so I pulled out my cell phone and called you because I don't want him getting any Landon Pigg ideas."

"What? Who?"

"Just talk to me until I can get back on the bus! Please! I'll give you back that roll of chiffon that I told you I didn't steal from you!"

"I KNEW IT! Kurt, you li – OH!" Deciding that he was going to be naughty with her, midsentence, proved to be a regretful life choice when she smacked Sam on the head. He quickly lifted the hand he had placed between her legs up to his forehead and gave her a sad puppy dog expression that made her mouth the words, "I warned you!"

"Mercedes? Are you alright?"

"Yeah… just… I just dropped something on my foot," she quickly recovered as Sam fell over in silent laughter. She flicked him on the shoulder and somehow dodged when he attempted to flick her back. "I cannot believe you took my fabric!"

"Just FYI, I'm giving you the _Kanye-est_ of shrugs right now. _Anyway_! I'm heading to the bus stop now and Bigfoot's Brother Man is not following, so I love you – and you're not getting that roll back now – bye!"

She rolled her eyes at the phone and tossed it towards the direction of the charger. Almost immediately, Sam descended on her with tickles. "Stop it!" she squealed through her laughter. "You play too much!"

Getting popped again didn't seem to deter him in the slightest.

O0O0O0O0O

"Who's Landon Pigg?" Mercedes asked the ceiling sometime after their tickle fight deteriorated into something else that involved wiggling fingers. He turned to her, smiling at the way she subconsciously fussed with her sweaty hair and kissed her shoulder.

"Landon… Uh, that guy from that, um – Did you see _Whip It_?"

She glanced his way and slowly shook her head. "I don't even know what that is."

"Damn," he muttered an instant before snapping his fingers. "Duh! The guy who sings that song from that AT&T commercial?"

She shrugged, pouting as if she was disappointing him. "Help me out?"

"The one about the coffee shop? You seriously don't remember?" She shrugged again and he groaned as he rolled over and crawled back between her knees. "Oh Woman. Uh, it goes, '_I think that possibly/Maybe I've fallen for you._'" He shot her another hopeful look, but pouted when she shrugged again, so he continued, "Well… and then the music goes, 'Ding-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding, ding' and the song goes, '_Yes there's a chance/That I've fallen quite hard over you_'. Remember yet?" She only shook her head and kissed the resulted pout. "Am I singing for nothing?"

"'Ding-ding, ding-ding,' huh?" she teased and he chuckled with her before pulling her into a kiss and rolling them onto their sides.

"'_I've seen the paths that your eyes wander down, I wanna come too'_ – I can't believe you don't know that song."

"Sing it again; maybe it'll jog my memory… And I'll provide your ding-ding's."

"_I'll_ provide _all_ the ding-ding you need," he sighed as he buried his face into her neck. "You smell so good."

"Thank you. I like your singing voice."

"And I admire your mean left hook. My forehead still hurts."

"No it does not!"

"How are you gonna tell me? I think I'm the one who would know! Now kiss it better."

"Fine." He closed his eyes with easy pleasure as her soft mouth anointed him.

After a few more soft kisses, he claimed, "My nose kinda hurts, too."

With a smirk at his tactics, she sat up and leaned over him to peck at his nose. "Anything else? Your lips look kinda swollen, but that might be from all the kisses."

"That doesn't make them any less sore. Kiss them better."

"Kiss the kiss-swollen kissers better, huh? Okay." He loved sipping her taste from those sweet kisses and would have gratefully drowned in them had she not whispered, "Anywhere else?"

He sat up a bit straighter, leaning back against the pillows at the headboard and pointed to his chest. "Here."

It pleased him to watch her eyes change right before his very own; already so brown and lovely, they darkened further as they trailed down him, a straight line that he could almost physically feel from his mouth to his sternum. Her fingers were quick to follow and it wasn't hard to let out the moan he was holding. The quirk of her lips did exciting things to him. Especially when they pressed against him, so he had to feel it in other places to. He pointed to his left pec, right above the nipple and was given a bonus when her tongue pushed out across the pinkish-brown point. Without a word from him – unless he was more suggestive between his incoherent howls of pleasure than he thought – she traced a path with nibbles across his chest to the other nipple.

"Lower," he croaked, looking down at her with what he knew must have been a glaring expression, but he couldn't help it; it felt so good – why the hell should he be responsible for what his face looked like? She glanced up at him once and confirmed his expression with a snort and a quick swipe of tongue down his clenched jaw.

"You like it?" Mercedes asked with almost as much cheekiness in her eyes as in her smile. He forced out a grunt of affirmation. That was soon followed by a grunt of approval as she lowered her head again. And then a grunt of delight when she began to move to his navel.

She was sliding down the bed to get to her goal and, consequently, sliding down his body. If it wasn't enough to feel and watch her suck the edges of his bellybutton with pleasant little hums, he had to do so while his body was wracked with the memory of what her breasts felt like, dragging across his skin.

And now, those breasts were pressed against his groin, not quite nestling his erection in their in-between warmth, but he knew that with one strategic thrust upward, it could be. However, he resisted only because her mouth was creating a happy trail down and down and then back up across the V of his hips.

Then she showed she had no such reservations about such things because she adjusted herself just enough in his lap that her heavy chest could engulf his hard, dripping dick. He wanted to yank her head back to see it peeking out, red and bright amongst all that milk chocolate-colored, vanilla and Heaven scented splendor, but he was more than positive that she wouldn't appreciate that so much. Instead, he tried not to bite through his tongue every time one of her hums vibrated along the length of him where he pressed again her throat. The tip would occasionally come into contact with the bottom of her chin, only when she dipped her head down to hum her kisses lower and he would jerk violently each time, causing her to bounce in his lap which only caused further movement of her breasts and continued the tortuous chain of pure fucking bliss. When she started the entire cycle all over again on purpose, he almost lost his mind.

"God. Fuck. Shit. Lil' Miss, don't tease. God! God! Ah! Ahhhh!" She finally lifted her head and he could see himself pulsing between her breasts, ready to drench them, spray them, squirt – he looked away and bit his lip for a pain to focus on instead. By the time he had calmed himself enough, she was just beginning a tiny swaying motion like a slow shimmy that had her hot skin massaging him just right. "I'm so hard."

"I feel that, baby," she said, bringing a hand to her heart and brushing the palm of it over his sticky head as she did so.

He made himself chuckle despite wanting to scream. Looking down at her, he could see that the desire in her eyes was giving her courage; she was using her body to stroke him all over, his thighs and legs feeling better than they ever had because her curves were wiggling between them. Looking over her shoulder he could see that ass rolling in what could only be an attempt to grind her yummy little pussy into the bed. He could only imagine how heated it must be down there considering that her top half was scorching him to the point of insanity.

Then she lowered her chin again and he bucked.

"You're so bad," he teased in an attempt to get her to do something worse. "No, don't give me that bashful look, woman. That don't work while you're tit-fucking me to death."

"Sam…" she crooned, shyly batting her lashes in the most unpracticed, natural way that had him yanking her up to him so he could whisper fiercely in her mouth, "I want to come in you. Can I come on your tongue? Will you suck my cock, Lil' Miss Mercy Me?"

If she hadn't already been on her hands and knees, he would be frightened that she'd fall over. She was shaking all over and only the rough kisses of his that she returned let Sam know that he shouldn't be looking for any fragility in her.

"Sam… _Baby_, I wanna suck it," she told him as explanation for pulling away. He watched her crawl backwards until she was positioned _so perfectly_ for what he needed her to do. After sending a quick prayer of thanks to all stages of the Lord's journey through puberty when one of her hands disappeared between her own thighs, he closed his eyes and told himself to not die.

God, she was a lapper.

She took long laps of him with her long, wide tongue, starting from the base of him with a slow lick all the way to the top as if he was a popsicle in the sun she had to lick up before it made a mess in her hand. She pressed kisses into the tip of him and he had to open his eyes to watch and see how sticky he made her lips… _So sticky_.

"Yes," he groaned. "Put it in your mouth. Can you put it in your mouth for Sammy?" She _could_ and she did. He rolled his hips, helping her take at least half of him in and out and back in and back out of her mouth. She lifted a hand to stroke what she didn't suck and he moaned at the sight of those fingers wrapped around him, wet from her own search for gratification. "Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. Yea – Shiiiiit!"

She glanced at him while chuckling and the combination of her gaze and her mouth made him have to let go. He came, longer and harder than he could ever remember. In a matter of seconds, his muscles began to spasm, becoming so strung up and tight that the sudden, searing melt of them into nothing but useless goo had him crying out because it felt so frighteningly good. He felt like he knew what lightning tasted like because he could feel it travelling through him, rattling him like thunder would the windows. "Oh! Oh!" Mercedes' muffled voice was saying somewhere so far away and he was sure he was saying words, too, but just as positive that none of them had any meaning.

When he finally floated back into his body, he first commended himself for not dying and then stared down at that amazing, beautiful, perfect woman. Her head was on his thigh, she was panting against his softening dick and her hands were down her body, pressed between her and the mattress, making the tiny moans she occasionally released go on for longer and louder. He felt like a bum because all he could do was stroke his fingers across her cheek and encourage her to, "Come on, baby. Come on. _Come_. Come," but she leaned up into his hand and she came, so he supposed he was alright after all.

Afterwards, she crawled up him, settling on him by straddling his stomach and pressing her cheek against his shoulder with a hum of contentment that he readily returned.

"I could definitely fall asleep like this," he said as they settled into their cuddle.

"Yeah," agreed Mercedes before sitting up faster than his sex-hazed mind could process. He reached for her, but she avoided him, instead reaching over to fiddle with the clock on her nightstand. "I can't believe what time it is! I have to go to work tomorrow."

He was still slow to process what she said, but a bit quicker now that he didn't have as much of her soft body to blanket himself with anymore. "Uh… Should I go or something?"

Her attention snapped back to him with a frown. She looked a bit troubled as she murmured, "I guess not… I mean, if you don't want to… You can stay if you want."

His sigh of relief was followed by hers as she turned off the lamp next to the bed and settled back into their cuddle.

"Good," he whispered in her hair. "'Cause I legit can't feel my knees."

O0O0O0O0O

**A/N:** Had y'all thinking I was gonna fill the rest of the chapter after Kurt with fluff, didn't you? Well, fuck that shit, it's my berfffdah! So, as it is my birthday, I think it would be fair to ask y'all for presents. I'm accepting reviews, fics, virgin sacrifices, lap dances, box sets of every season of _Supernatural_, Kobe Bryant, James Franco, Derrick Rose, Chord Overstreet and Tyson Beckford. Also, Shemar Moore, Robert Downey Jr. and that Korean man from Lost and Hawaii 5-0. And also that blond guy from that Disney movie Brink, the man who plays Jason on General Hospital and that cute guy that works at the Whole Foods around the corner. Anything with abs and a penis, really. And French fries. I love French fries. And Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Brad Pitt and that boy from Holes with the curly hair b/c he grew up into quite the looker… And French fries. And Ryan Reynolds with French fries. _I suppose it would be easier to just leave me a review._ _**–DMH**_


	5. RRRRR

**Author's Note:** Thank you for all the birthday wishes! And shout out to whoever was going to give me Ryan Gosling, but then changed their mind because he wasn't on my list… You real fake for that. No worries though, I got French fries. Also, I got called a flawless, exquisite bitch. I love you guys. lol

Anywho, in our last chapter, Mercedes learned what a long dick looked like and in this chapter, her lesson shall be completed. I think y'all will be happy with me during that part. I was listening to Maxwell. You're welcome. (I'm so very inappropriate.) _**–DMH**_

O0O0O0O0O

Chapter Five:

_Rajish's Raunchy, Reckless Reasonable Reasoning_

O0O0O0O0O

Sam snored.

Mercedes _supposed_ that wasn't a bad thing. After all, he wasn't that loud or obnoxious. Actually, it was loud and obnoxious, but it was, in a contradicting way, cute? No… Maybe?

She was somewhat surprised she had slept through it – her alarm clock was what had woken her, but there was no point in hitting the snooze button because the wounded animal sounds coming from Sam were guaranteed to _keep_ her up.

He was sprawled on his back, easily taking up three-quarters of her bed, his right arm was curled along the top of the pillow she had just woken up on, and his right thigh had been between both of hers. Given his wild positions and horrible snoring, she should not have been able to sleep in the same bed as this man. She had shared a bed with men before; they stuck to their side, she stuck to hers, if they so much as rolled over she was awake… and they didn't snore!

So how was it she could spend an entire night with this one-man-bed-wrecker and wake up feeling better rested than she ever had in her life?

She had absolutely no answer to this question, so all she could do was stand at the end of her bed, staring as Sam rolled onto his stomach with only a grunt to interrupt his snores and she whispered, "_What is you?_ Why are you still so attractive?"

With a shrug, she went into her bathroom and completed her morning routine then she was back in her bedroom, back with the man who sounded like a dying lawn mower attacking a cow. Needless to say, when she flicked on the overhead light and the snoring abruptly ended she was surprised and confused. Sam's head, which had been face down in a pillow – thus confusing Mercedes further as to how his snoring was so loud – lifted as soon as the light flooded into the room. She watched in amusement as the groggy, blond head turned left and then right in an attempt to take in his surroundings.

"Good morning, Sam." He twisted his torso to look over his shoulder and she was greeted with a sleepy frown.

"Nnnn," he said before letting loose a fierce yawn and dropping his head onto the pillow once more.

Mercedes only laughed at him and padded over to her dresser to grab her bottle of lotion. She sat on the edge of her bed – in a small area that Sam didn't occupy – and started to smooth the lotion up and down her legs. Sam let out another groan and she was suddenly very aware of her body. She was wearing nothing but a towel, her hair was pinned up and she could feel his eyes tracing the shoulders it left bare. She could feel the mattress dip and bounce as Sam slowly made his way over to her, but she didn't look back, only continued to moisturize her skin. When she finished with her legs and arms, she unfastened her towel to do her torso and the sound Sam made was even more obnoxious than his snoring.

The bed creaked and bounced as he sat up and wrapped himself around her, but she was careful not to acknowledge him. Only continued lotioning her breasts with a tiny smirk. He pressed his nose against the back of her neck and inhaled deeply.

"You are such a sexy woman, Mercedes," he said, his voice made deeper with both sleep and arousal. She could feel his body's morning habit pressing against her behind, but she paid it no mind, despite his subtle, perhaps even subconscious rolling of hips. "You smell so good. What's in that lotion?"

She stared at the description on the back of the bottle, pretending she could read it with his large hands rubbing back and forth across her thighs. "Shea and cocoa butter… vanilla…"

He let out a very appreciative moan. "You always smell like vanilla."

Those hands ran up her torso, smoothed up her soft belly, cupped her heavy breasts… She sighed and dropped her head back against him. "Did you have fun last night, Sammy?"

"Yes, I did." One of his hands abandoned her nipples and fell back to her thighs. "We need to repeat that. Soon."

He began rubbing circles between her legs, right above her clit. She covered his hand with both of hers, abandoning the lotion bottle to the floor with a hard thud. "_Yes_."

"_Now_," he whispered against the rim of her ear and his fingers traced the line of her slit, finding her wetness and dipping into it. She allowed him to tease only a few moans out of her before lifting his hand away.

"We can't now… I have work."

The body behind her tensed with disappointment and Mercedes waited for the recklessness to happen, but then a soft kiss was dropped onto her shoulder and Sam moved away. "You're right," he said, climbing off the bed, looking like Apollo because the one ray of sunlight that snuck through the crack in the drapes had caught him; the gold of his hair, the lines of his body, his shining, red erection…

He glanced at the clock on her nightstand and pouted. "Looks like I'm going to open the shop late today. May I use your restroom?"

Gathering the towel around herself, she stood and maneuvered around him to get to her dresser. "Sure."

He looked a bit upset when he came out of the bathroom a few minutes later and saw that she had acquired clothing. However, he quickly covered his pout with a smile as he gathered his own clothes from where it was thrown haphazardly all around the room. "I used your mouthwash, I hope you don't mind."

"Nope," she said, chancing a glance at him pulling on his jeans. He caught her staring, so she blushed as she fiddled with her flatiron.

"So I was thinking, since it's Friday and I'm opening my shop late I'll probably have to close it late, too…"

"Okay?"

"I don't have to be at the club tonight, just my shop. You should come and keep me company."

"Company?" she asked, combing her fingers through her hair. She lifted the flatiron and watched him watch her tame her hair with fascination. "And what will I be doing as this 'company'?"

He yanked his t-shirt on, sending his hair into even wilder disarray than it already had been in. With a shrug, he said, "I don't know. Whatever you want. We can hang out by the counter or go to the backroom or go upstairs… And maybe you can spend the night since you don't have work tomorrow?"

Mercedes bit her lip against curving up into a bashful smile. "I don't know, Sam."

"Or you could just call off work right now and I could spend the night again."

And _there_ that recklessness was. He almost got her with his timid high school boy routine.

"It's not even eight in the morning yet and you're going to spend the night again? Just what are we going to do all day and night?" she asked. The corners of his mouth quirked up, first the right then the left, and he plopped down on her bed to put his shoes on.

"I don't want to brag or anything…"

"You can brag. I don't mind," she joked, immediately regretting it afterwards. His next lopsided grin was slow coming and it only appeared on his face once he looked her up and down in such a way that she made a mental note to not wear her good underwear around him anymore. Even across the room, the wild glitter of want in his eyes was enough to cause a hitch in her breath, a halt in her heartbeats before they came thundering back with a vengeance. She put her flatiron down so her trembling hands wouldn't scar her for life. "Sam, I really need to go to work. It's too late to get a substitute to cover my classes."

"What do you teach?"

"Music classes. Choir."

"I bet you have a real pretty voice. It sounded real good last night."

"_Sam_," she chided, but he only laughed and finished tying up his boots. Then he stood and sauntered out of her room with a saunter that told her that he was fully aware of his saunter's sexy sauntering abilities. "Get out!" she called after him with a laugh.

"Fine! Fine! I'm leaving," she heard him say. She didn't dare leave her room until she heard the front door close behind him. Not even when he yelled, "Hey, I'm taking your lacy panties from last night with me! You can visit them at my place later because they're mine now!"

That perv, she couldn't help but think as she lost the fight to keep a smile off her face.

O0O0O0O0O

"I don't understand why I have to help you clean this mess. I'm not the one who went through your closet and pulled everything out of it." Santana shot an accusatory glare in Kurt's direction which he deflected with sheer not-giving-a-fuck-ness. He only pursed his lips and passed a roll of fabric to her so she could place it with others in a box.

Mercedes couldn't help but laugh at her friends. She had texted them to come to her apartment that afternoon when she was still in school and was not surprised in the slightest when she found them bickering in her living room when she got home. She was pretty sure either Kurt or the both of them had copied a key to her place long ago. "Girl, you're helping because you love me – _And_!" she stressed when Santana opened her mouth to interject. "And because me and Kurt are _helping you_ get groceries for your dinner with Brittany and Mr. Abrams tomorrow."

"Whatever. I should just tell Brittany to cancel her plane ticket."

Mercedes frowned. "Why?"

Santana turned to her friend in shock. "You know why!"

"Why?" she asked, lifting her hands with a shrug.

"We're practically on the same cycle. Mine started this morning."

"Oh my God, you're right!" Mercedes gasped, clutching a hand to her chest and praying, begging not to get her period before tonight. God, she needed tonight so badly. _Seventeen months. Seventeen of them._

Kurt only shook his head and draped himself across the back of Mercedes' couch. "This explains so much. Snixx is in town."

"What ever do you mean, Casper the Prissy Ghost?" snapped the brunette, as she whipped her head so fast in his direction that her headband fell off.

Kurt just sighed, "That. Right there. Snixx."

"I wasn't even being that mean."

"You almost hit me with your car in the parking lot just half an hour ago and then you laughed at me for screaming in fright!"

"Oh my God, Santana!" gasped Mercedes.

Santana dismissed them both with a hand wave. "I told you, I was just trying to catch your attention to say hi… And you shrieked like a banshee on fire. It was funny. Besides, as you well know, Auntie Snixx and Auntie Flo ride the shuttle together every month. I can't control that."

"You can control every other time Snixx comes out though. If only we all had an alter ego to fall back on," Mercedes said with a roll of her eyes just as the last box of fabric was filled and stacked with the others on the floor – no thanks to Kurt. She rushed over to him and slapped his thigh, causing him to shriek and fall from his perch onto the couch cushions. "At that noise that just came out of your mouth, I totally believe Satan now."

"I'm just saying," the Latina laughed.

Kurt sat up with a pout and crossed his arms over his puffed out chest. "Whatever, Snixx and… Diva, you should totally have an alter ego, too."

"I already do," she told him, crawling into a seat next to her friend. Santana plopped down next to her and turned on the television. "I'm Mercedes and I'm the Diva."

"Nope, doesn't count," Santana said as she flipped to a _Real Housewives_. "You're the Diva all day, _erryday_."

"Right, so am I just going to be Super Diva now or what?"

"C'mon _Dee-Vah_, you need an alter, too. Santana has Snixx, which is just everything horrible in the world aka Santana times two – and even _I _have Rajish!"

"Rajish?" Santana and Mercedes laughed. Mercedes recovered first and asked, "Isn't that that game you made up when you first discovered how to fold your pashminas different ways?"

"You still do that?"

Kurt side-eyed Santana and nodded. "Yes! Like all the time!"

"Lies!" the girls cackled together.

"Well, fine… All the time with Blaine… In the bedroom," he added hastily and the girls' laughter ended with two unattractive squeaks. "He loves it. And I love it, too. Being Rajish allows me to have a different kind of confidence – to be freer with myself. Fiercer. Plus, Rajish can pull off headdresses more effectively than I can."

"Kurt's right. Being Snixx does make me feel free… and sexy."

"Exactly," agreed Kurt, his eyes suddenly far away and glassy. "Doing that Indian accent makes Blaine come faster than you can say, 'Thank you! Come again!'"

Mercedes threw her head back with a scream of mirth as Santana collapsed against her side, hiding her own laughter behind her fist. "Oh my God, Kurt!" She pushed herself off the couch; Santana fell over pitifully. "I need to get away from both of you! Let's just go to the grocery store so I can get rid of you. Get out of my house!"

Once the trio's giggling subsided, they left the apartment, piled into Kurt's Audi and drove to the nearest Kroger.

"When did you get that car?" Santana asked as they walked into the store. "Are you a drug dealer?"

"Yes, I only avoid the hard streets by posing as a designer and personal shopper," he replied, tossing his scarf over his shoulder. "You got me."

"Everyone knows you're a Columbian drug lord, Kurtsie," Mercedes chuckled as she grabbed a cart.

"Whatever, Lexus."

"Lexus?" Mercedes' nose scrunched up in disgust. "What?"

"You don't like it?" Kurt pouted as they turned down the cereal aisle. "Lexus! Your alter ego! Or Alexis."

"Eww, hell to the no."

Santana laughed and then burst out with, "Ferrari!"

"Mustang Sally."

"That's rude, Kurt."

"Range Rover."

"You're not even trying, Satan," Mercedes said as she tossed a box of Frosted Flakes at the other woman.

"Miss Toyota Corolla!"

"That sounds like a drag queen," she laughed.

"Porsche!"

"Oh, yes Diva! Porsche! That's sexy!" Kurt swooned against her as Santana mirrored him on her other side. "You are Porsche Jones, Mercedes' long lost, skanky German twin."

"Skanky German twin!" Santana cackled.

With a roll of her eyes, Mercedes sighed and shook the two losers off of her arms. "Are you kidding me?" Their expressions told her they were not and when they moved behind her, linked arms and bent their heads together to whisper conspiringly, all she could say was, "Jesus, take the shopping cart."

O0O0O0O0O

An hour later, with a cart full of food Mercedes was sure Santana couldn't burn, the three of them moved to the front of the store to a check out station. Santana and Mercedes handled the food as their other friend, as usual, perused the candy and tabloids.

Kurt lifted up a magazine and growled at its cover: Lindsay Lohan – half-naked, pale, bony, blonde and freckled. "What is this?"

Santana took one glance and rolled her eyes. "An example of Jesus abandoning the wheel."

"An example of Jesus never even taking the wheel," Mercedes corrected as she helped Santana place the food on the conveyer belt. "She needs to stop dyeing her hair. I miss 'Mean Girls' Lindsay."

"She doesn't even go here!" Kurt tsked at the magazine and began flipping through it. "How dare you, Lindsay! I was rooting for you! We were all rooting for you! I mean, look at this."

Santana lifted her head to look at whatever article he was shaking in her face, but suddenly slapped it away with wide eyes. "_Holy shit!_ Is that B.L. 'Big Lips' McGoldshorts over there?"

Kurt dropped his magazine in the rush to see Sam and Mercedes was very glad that her friends weren't paying close enough attention to her to notice the red blooming under her cocoa complexion. She peeked over Kurt's shoulder and sure enough, Sam was standing at another check out station being goo-goo-eyed by the heifer scanning his milk.

"It does look like him," Kurt replied, fanning himself slightly. "I can't really tell because he's not in his McGoldshorts."

"Maybe he's wearing them under his clothes," Mercedes suggested, smiling at the very confused cashier.

"I'm still shocked that he even owns clothes. Aren't they supposed to be tagged or something before they're released into the wild?" Mercedes pushed her playfully and Santana snorted. "Let's go talk to him."

"No!" Kurt said before Mercedes could scream the word at the top of her lungs. "You're not getting out of paying for these groceries. I suggest you dig in the purse pronto, Mamacita!"

Santana rolled her eyes, but did as Kurt suggested. By the time someone arrived to bag their food, Sam was sauntering pass the trio to the store's exit, catching their open leering with a look of surprise and sending them a cocky smile in return.

"Well, if I wasn't Lebanese," Santana sighed. "Gotdamn."

O0O0O0O0O

_Saw u n ur friends in da frzn food sect n had 2stop myself frm runnin over n slappin ur azz_, Sam texted her about ten minutes after she and her friends arrived at Santana's place. She giggled at her phone and leaned against a kitchen counter.

Ignoring her friends' demands that she help them put away the food, she slipped into the living room and texted back, _Rude. What were you even there? I thought you were in your store all day?_

_Membered thati had no food 4 u. gotta keep ur protein up cuz i plan on havin u in bed allday 2mrw_, he replied.

_I never agreed to be in bed with you for an entire day._

_R we shooting 4the wknd?_

She laughed again and told him, _You are a mess. I'll see you tonight. And I'll bring a bag, I guess._

_Ill b waitin_, the next text read and she shivered in pleasure. "Hey Kurt," she called out. "Can you take me home right now?"

After Kurt dropped her off and left, Mercedes went upstairs to take a shower and mused over the idea of Porsche in the spray of hot water.

Porsche wasn't German… maybe she was European. No, she was from Ohio. She couldn't be too different from Mercedes, after all. She wasn't skanky… she was liberated. Liberated was a good word. Liberated was how Mercedes felt when she was with Sam; liberated, comfortable, wanted, sexy and naked.

She chuckled softly to herself. She already had adopted this persona long before Kurt had even brought it up this afternoon. Porsche had shown herself that morning by dropping her towel in front of Sam. She revealed herself the night before through her lips and tongue. Hell, she was present the first night she had ever even seen Sam.

This could work, Mercedes thought later as she slipped on black leggings and a long, gray sweatshirt-like top with a deep, deep V in the front that revealed a tight blue tank and an impressive showcase of cleavage. Her makeup was subtle and she put on the lip gloss Sam had enjoyed licking off her lips. She teased her hair into big curls, vaguely wondering what it would look like the next day ASS; from what she knew of the man, one of his life goals was probably to make her sweat her hair out as much as possible. Maybe she could get a last minute hair appointment for Saturday or Sunday morning.

Yes, this could definitely work. Porsche was that voice in the back of Mercedes' head that developed after she and Kurt had seen the Prince for the first time in Roger & Hammerstein's Cinderella (the one with Brandy and Whitney Houston). Porsche was the reason she liked to be spanked. Porsche liked making out with Santana's older cousin at her friend's Quinceañera. Porsche took shots with less than savory, but extremely cute men named Puck. Porsche was too busy recovering from orgasms to care about snoring. Porsche was laughter and liquor and lust and Mercedes was going to let her out with Sam.

Yes, this would most definitely work.

She strolled into Sam's store at around nine, swinging her big purse with one hand, and chuckled when she recognized his voice. "'_My girls rock Chanel and smoke mad marijuana. Damn ma, I love you like the lah, the ganja.'_"

"You smoking back here or something?" she giggled as she reached the counter. Sam blushed and reached to his laptop to turn the music off.

"I can't help it that I like Lil' Kim," he replied, leaning his elbows on the counter. "I must have a thing for short, black women, huh?"

She tried and failed to contain her laughter. "You are so lame!"

"I know!" He ambled around the counter and wrapped her in his arms. "I can't help that either."

Closing her eyes and accepting his kisses was an easy thing to do. Hey were soft and warm against her lips, cheeks, eyelids… With a sigh, she pulled away so she could look into his enviable eyes and told him, "I want to go upstairs. _Now_."

He stared down at her with what she deemed his serious expression – mouth a serious line, jaw flexing, eyes dark – and nodded slowly.

"Let me close shop and I'll escort you up there."

"Ooo, 'escort'. You're such a gentleman, Sammy," she retorted, setting her phasers to flirt. He folded up his laptop and stacked a few papers on top of it then flashed a big smile her way.

"I'm a _Southern_ gentleman, Missy, and I'll never let you forget it." He went into that unforgettable backroom, but reappeared as quickly as he had disappeared. He swung a big bag onto the counter and locked the backroom's door. "Can you stick my laptop and stuff in that bag, baby?"

"Sure," she said, skipping around the counter to do as he asked. He moved beside her to unlock the register and she had to swing herself away from a playful swat he sent towards her behind. "Okay, _Southern gentleman_. You gotta explain to me just what the means because I'm just not seeing it."

He locked the register and accepted his bag from her before taking her hand and walking her to the shop's entrance. As he locked up and led her around the building, he revealed, "A Southern gentleman always assures that a lady comes first. In all aspects of the word."

"_All_?" she asked, eyeing the alley he was leading her through.

"All aspects," he reiterated. He stopped at a door on the completely opposite side of the building and opened it for her, bowing as she strolled through the threshold.

She ducked her head to hide a smile and walked up a steep staircase to his apartment's door. "Your place isn't a mess like mine was, is it?"

"Are you asking if it smells like New Zealand because I'm sure it doesn't," he chuckled as he let them in. He flipped on the lights and she couldn't help but grin. His studio apartment screamed bachelor pad; three red bricks walls, posters of bands, movies, cityscapes framed and hung in random places. His kitchen area was to the right of them, small and clean, his bed was directly in front of them and Mercedes could just imagine him trudging up here after a long day, making a beeline for the bed and passing out. The only wall that was not brick was the one behind the headboard and it was covered with pictures and posters of just about every superhero imaginable. "Don't mind my dorkiness."

She smiled at him and followed him further into the room as he dropped his bag onto a large, red, square couch that faced a stereo system and a matching chair. She wanted to kick off her coat and boots and jump on it, so she did. "I don't mind. I like it."

He walked up to where she stood on the couch and folded his arms around her. "Look, you're taller than me."

"Yup, now you know how I feel!" She leaned down to accept the kiss he offered up to her with a smile.

"Good luck with your new neck problems," he teased and she smacked him lightly on the arm. "Rude! C'mere!" He pulled her off the couch and into his chest. She took this as an invitation to climb him, so she wrapped one of her legs high around his middle. Cupping his face, she planted dozens of kisses on his lips and heartily accepted each one he returned.

O0O0O0O0O

The taste of her laughter was intoxicating. He sipped her curving lips like champagne, the flavor teasing him through every tiny peck, but her giggles would bubble up and end it. Eventually, one kiss stuck and deepened, but just as he settled into it, she pulled away. "Shit."

She scolded Sam for cursing with a look, tugged his hands from her waist and hopped off the couch. She certainly had a walk on her, he acknowledged as his eyes locked onto her swinging hips. She was wearing leggings again, so every diamond backed step she took made his hands itch to grab hold of those chunky thighs and when she climbed onto his bed, slowly wiggling her hips and sending a coquettish smirk his way…

_Dammit._

He pulled his shirt and sweater off and followed her to the bed, falling on his knees at the foot of it.

"Get up here," suggested Mercedes as she turned to sit with her knees bent in the middle of the mattress. He shook his head and reached out to clasp each of her ankles then dragged her across the comforter. She came to him with a squeal of surprise that had him beaming. Grateful, for once, that his bed was so close to the ground, he only had to reach up slightly to pull her tank and bra down, revealing her perfect tits and their chocolate tips. His mouth was at the perfect height to suck them, so he did. He wanted to approach this methodically, first swirling his tongue around her right nipple, then repeating the action on her left, gradually stepping up his game until she was losing control. However, he realized that things sometimes don't go as planned. As soon as he breathed in her scent, tasted her skin, he became all consumed. The hands clutching his hair and shoulders told him that he could be rough, so he _sucked her roughly_, taking as much of her breast in his mouth as he could with loud smacking sounds. And he knew she loved it. If her moans and whines hadn't told him that, her cupping herself and presenting her breasts as an offering feast certainly did.

He fixed his gaze on hers when he pulled her leggings and panties down. She was staring at him in awe, as if she was amazed at something about him. "Am I going too fast?"

"God no," she answered, lifting her legs, smiling when he pulled her socks off and kissed the pink tips of her little toenails. He placed another kiss on her breasts – a "see you later" kiss, not a goodbye – and bent his head to look at her. Her slit was already dewy, already ready for him.

"I want to hear you," he told her. "There's no one here but me and you. And I need to hear you."

"Yes." Satisfied with her response, he lifted each of her legs, placed each of her feet on each of his shoulders and lowered his head. The peach of that sweet pussy was a taste he would never forget. His tongue danced in it, swirling and playing, soaking up every sticky drop of nectar she was willing to give him. He ignored her clit, but she didn't seem to mind; he was more focused on her hole, that tight little entrance that clenched around his taste buds and didn't seem to want to let go. He turned his head so those inner lips could accept his sloppy kisses better. "Yes, yes, yes…" Joy from her approval had him burying his face deeper into her. Thank God for synchronized swimming in high school or else he would have never been able to hold his breath for so long.

She came grinding her clit against his nose, her voice melodically keening in pleasure. Once he dropped her legs and raised his head, he climbed onto the bed, hovering over where she had collapsed onto her back. She smiled up at him hazily. Then she reached up to pull him down and suck her taste from his lips and tongue.

They turned together, flipping their positions until she was pressed hot and wet against his abs. She rubbed herself against his hard stomach, moaning into his shoulder as his own hands assisted the movement of her hips.

"I need you inside me so bad," she whispered into his skin. Her tiny hands kneaded and massaged him, never lingering too long in one area, driving him insane with their indecisiveness. Her hips were doing the same thing, further painting his stomach with her wetness with every erratic up and down stroke. "I need you to fuck me."

"I will," he assured her. "But kiss me more."

She groaned into each of her kisses. Sometimes desperately – the kisses she pressed against his collarbone sounded frustrated – other times spiteful (those kisses came with sharp teeth). When those emotional lips met his again, he cradled her in his arms, against his chest, tucking her arms in between them.

"Sam," she whined in between long, drugging kisses. "I need it."

A final lick to her upper lip and then he rolled on top once more. He reached towards his nightstand, opened the drawer and pulled out a condom. She smiled at the sight of it and reached between them to unbuckle his belt.

"You gonna fuck me, Sam?"

"Yeah, I think I just might," he replied, watching those quick fingers unbutton, unzip and pull him out. His eyes rolled back briefly; she seemed to be weighing him in her palm and her hand was so hot and so soft. She stroked him a few times, swirled her thumb around the tip of him – naughty, naughty girl. He could feel her eyes on him, so he lifted the condom wrapper to his mouth and ripped it open with his teeth. Unfortunately, a piece of gold foil got stuck on his lip, so the effect was not as cool as he intended. Her giggles filled the air as he attempted to blow the foil away to no avail, but she soon lifted a compassionate hand and sent the offending wrapper away. "Damn, stop laughing. I'm trying to dick you down. This is serious stuff."

She only laughed harder, throwing her head back and exposing her neck. He went straight for the jugular, dragging his tongue up it until he found a spot that transformed her sniggers into whimpers like magic. He rolled the condom on and pressed into her.

God, he had needed this. This tightness, this heat, surrounding and sucking him in. Mercedes was so perfect. So sweet.

"Oh! Yes. Oh my God," she whispered as he pushed further. Her legs were crossed around him, violently trembling, her arms doing the same around his neck.

"Lift your hips… Ah, like that." Why did her body fit his so well? It almost made him angry that he didn't know the answer. His hands fisted into the blanket on either side of her head in an attempt to keep him in check, but the bottom half of him didn't care. His cock was diving into heaven, plunging into it over and over. And heaven was begging for it. He could see it in her eyes. Feel it in the way her nails dug into his ass. "Faster?"

"Yes!"

"Fuck yes!" he managed to grit out through his teeth. He was thrusting into her now, clumsily trying to maintain an imaginary beat that would keep her glossy lips in that pretty O position. She was so gorgeous, so beautiful, and he had never been this excited. Never. It took everything, absolutely every ounce of self control he had to not embarrass himself.

To avoid the temptation to look down and watch himself fuck her, he lowered his body until it was completely flushed against hers. And she liked it. Jesus Christ, she liked it.

His hair was fisted in one of her hands, his head yanked towards her so she could mewl into his mouth. She lifted her hips as much as she could in a tiny grinding motion that made him want to cry. He wanted to stay inside her forever, so gone were his long, fast strokes. He replaced them with his humping hips and a circular motion that made her whine. Every time he caught her eyes, every single time he locked onto those brown beauties eating him alive, he stomach would twitch, so he forced himself to look away. Instead, he kissed, licked, nibbled that brown skin anywhere he could reach; the shell of her ear, the corner of her mouth, the line of her throat.

And Mercedes was not shy with her responses, never once. She gave hums of approval, sighs that gave him validation. Her loud moans had quieted to little "oohs and ahhs", but Sam felt no less satisfied by them, especially when she suddenly seized up, scratched lines down his back and fiercely whispered, "There! There!"

He grinded himself into _there_ once, twice, five times, ten and she was soaring in his arms, shuddering and sobbing as she flew. The channel around him gripped tighter than anything he had ever felt, so his own orgasm was not a surprise. It jolted through him, white hot through every nerve, enhanced with the sheer knowledge that she hadn't even come down from her own high yet and then it left him like a sigh.

He collapsed on top of her, out of breath and shaking. He pressed his ear to her heartbeat, listened to it slowing down as the rapid rise and fall of her breasts did the same. "Shit."

A chuckle vibrated her chest and fingers stroked his hair. A lazy kiss was skimmed across his forehead and he closed his eyes, happy to be cradled against this woman.

"Are you asleep?" she asked a few minutes later when his arm curled around her middle. He was sure he was heavy, but Mercedes didn't complain, only stroked her hand across his bicep in sensuous circles.

"No," he replied without opening his eyes.

"Are you going to sleep?"

"No."

"Are you going to fuck me again?"

God, if he wasn't careful, he was going to fall in love with this woman.

O0O0O0O0O

**A/N:** Did y'all get that "diamond in the back" reference? Do people still say that? I was feeling poetic.

So writing the word "cock" makes me giggle. I can't even say it out loud. Ever. I had this… boyfriend-like person who used to use it and I would laugh whenever he would say it cuz I'm rude. So from now on, as you're reading this story, every time you see the word "cock", know that I was laughing when I wrote that. And I was laughing _hard_. So immature. Lol!

On a more random note than that, while I was writing this, Adele's "Rumor Has It" popped up on my iTunes and – because of friggin Glee – I shouted in the middle of it, "DON'T FORGET ME! I beg!" That happens every time I listen to that song now. I'm a mess. _**–DMH**_


	6. EEandEE

**Author's Note:** The author of the greatest review I've ever gotten (and my future baby mama as soon as science permits) asked me, ever so eloquently, if I could write "a scene where Sam really lets loose with a whole lot of nasty raunch out of that filthy, pillowy mouth of his." So I did. There's your warning. Wear a condom. _And why did "Queen Bitch" just come on my iTunes? Apple is psychic and it's telling me to listen to "Hard Core". There's your second warning. Wha wha! _(I seriously don't know how we got to a 6th chapter with me living my life this way. Thank you guys for putting up with me and my Lil' Kim interjections and my run-on sentences.) _**–DMH**_

O0O0O0O0O

Chapter Six:

_Educated, Energized, and Eager Evans_

O0O0O0O0O

Over the course of a few hours, Mercedes learned all sorts of things. She learned that Sam's last name was Evans. She learned that he enjoyed using sport metaphors. She learned that he was very, very eager to please. And please he did. He answered all her whispered pleas with lips and fingers and asked these quiet, little questions that excited her to no end.

"You like that?" he'd ask after stroking his tongue in some random, new place.

"Again?" he'd ask whenever he did something to make her entire being shiver.

"Does that make you feel good?" he'd asked while pushing forward or up… or sideways or down or diagonally.

"Will you come for me, baby?" he asked so many times. So many times.

And Sam was a quick study himself. He was self-educated in the subject of her body. He knew what she liked, what she wanted and what to avoid, as if he had catalogued each and every one of her reactions in his mind. Sam was such an excellent learner and it showed in his work, especially in his extra credit efforts. Like any good student, he exploited his advantages. When one knows a lot of facts, one uses those. When one is well versed in literature, one uses that. When one has good writing skills, one uses them.

Sam had a good mouth.

His lips were swollen with kisses, full and cherry-red. They felt so good against her skin, everywhere they touched. So soft. So warm.

But the words that spilt from those lips…

O0O0O0O0O

Sam was a very good student and he took good notes. Whenever he did something, anything that made Mercedes croon like a songbird in his arms, he remembered it, documented it for future use. So when he discovered how those little questions of his made her voice hitch or her breathing stop for even a split second, he knew he had to use it. He didn't want to scare away or dampen her mood, so he began slowly.

"Mizz Jones, you sure are beautiful." She flushed prettily at the compliment and puffed her chest out, pressing it into his hands. He kneaded her breasts as he rode her leisurely, pushing in and out of her, enticing the loveliest of sighs from her. She lifted a hand to rake her nails down his chest. He countered the action by moving with a little more speed, hoping to give her as much pleasure as he just received.

"Ahh, yes!" she moaned, tightening her legs around his hips. "Faster, please."

With manners like that, who was he not to fulfill her needs? His hands traveled down her body, following every dip and curve until they found her legs, her thighs. "So sexy… Is it good?"

She bit her lip and moaned. "So good. More – please?"

"You want me to go harder, Lil' Missy?" he asked, holding her gaze as he thrust into her. She groaned wordlessly and nodded. He tightened his hold on her thighs, squeezing them and tugging them higher into his every hurried movement. "You want it hard?" She managed a coherent answer this time; a "yes" rushed out between fevered pants of breath. "You want me to fuck you hard?" he whispered fiercely as his pace picked up. She was fighting to keep her eyes from rolling back. It excited him. "You want this cock hard?"

She threw her head back with a wild noise, like a high-pitch yowl. "Yes Sam! God!"

When he pulled out, she let out a distressed sob, so he quickly helped her roll onto her stomach, pulled her up onto her knees. She twisted her torso around so she could look at what he was doing with a worried expression. "Don't fret. I'm right here," he assured against her shoulder before ramming into her once more. She cried out and twisted back again. He wrapped the arm she held out to him around his neck and bent forward to her waiting lips. His hand was holding the nape of her neck, holding her head in a position so she could watch him and take every sloppy kiss he licked along the open circle of her lips. He muttered filthy nonsense into her mouth and she devoured it, her eyes lighting up at the taste. "Your cunny feels so good. Do I make you feel good, too? You're gonna take this dick hard. You wanna take it hard?"

"Yeah – yes!" She clutched a pillow against her chest, holding onto it for dear life as his hips began to piston back and forth, plowing into her with a defining smack of skin against skin that echoed through the large room over and over. She let out whimpers and squeals, moans and sighs, sharp pants of breath that grew faster every time his speed picked up or a dirty word was whispered.

"You like my cock?" Sam kept his voice low, careful, steadied in her ear even as his body kept its fast pace with hers. "You take it so good. Your pussy's so good… squeezing me so tight… Goddamn, you're beautiful – Keep looking at me like that! Yes! Look at me like that while I fuck you."

Her body spasmed around his, once… twice and suddenly she was twisting away from him, beating her tiny fists against his comforter, screaming into a pillow as he gripped her waist and yanked her onto his rigid cock over and over. "Sam! Yes! Sam! Saaaaaaaaam!"

He pressed his forehead against her spine as he pumped her, harder and faster still. Bringing her closer was getting him there as well, so it was difficult for him to comprehend what he was saying. It was most likely some variation of, "Come on my fucking dick!" but, for all he knew, he could have been reciting the Greek Alphabet.

Or he could have been just screaming like she was. Who knew? What he did know for a fact were two things. The first was that getting Mercedes revved up the way she was produced spectacular orgasms – for the both of them. And secondly, he had never seen a more dazzling smile than the one that had bloomed on her face in the midst of afterglow. When her screams and sobs died down and morphed into infectious, almost hysterical laughter, he couldn't help but join in.

Slowly, after the laughter gave way to a comfortable silence, he reluctantly rolled away from her to dispose of the condom in the bathroom. When he came back, the sight of her in the middle of his bed, curled up on her stomach with her eyes closed and a serene smile on her face had his heart clenching. Her hair was curled around her cheeks, framing her face as a picture of utter beauty. She looked like a goddess – like goodness and grace and peace and salvation all wrapped up in one. And he wanted her. He wanted everything about her.

"Oh my God."

At his voice, her head lifted and her eyes opened. "What's wrong?" He only shook his head and rubbed a hand over the spot on his chest his heart suddenly wanted to burst from. She held her hand out to him with a soft, tranquil smile. "Then come back to bed."

O0O0O0O0O

"Me-eee! An-nnd! Mizzaz! _Mizzaz Jones!_ Mizzaz Jones! Mizzaz Jones! Mizzaz Jones! We got a _thaaang_ goin' on!"

She threw her head back and let out a healthy guffaw at the sight of Sam tangoing in his kitchen with a skillet of scrambled eggs. Mercedes was still in bed – at his insistence – watching him cook breakfast for her. She usually slept in on Saturdays, but Sam wanted to cook for her and as soon as he climbed out of bed and slipped into those baggy sweatpants that hung deliciously low on his hips she couldn't very well say no.

And now he was singing off-key, butchering a classic love song and swishing his hips like a hula girl. It was adorable. "Crazy boy."

"Crazy girl," he chuckled as he scrapped the eggs onto two plates. With an exaggerated swagger to make her smile, he walked over to the bed and plopped down next to her. She took the plate and fork he offered and dug in. "You like turkey bacon?"

"I adore anything with the word bacon in it as long as it ends up in my mouth."

"I think I will be changing the names of some of my body parts now," he said, dropping a quick kiss on her bare shoulder.

She laughed and teased, "You name your body parts?"

"Shut up." A ringing noise emanated from his nightstand as she laughed at him, so he handed her his plate and crawled across the bed. "Hello. _Sour Notes Guitar Store_. Sam speak– Oh hey, man. Let me call you back later. Alright. Bye."

She was frowning when he flipped his phone closed and climbed back across the bed. "What?"

"Do you take all your phone calls on that phone?" she asked, passing his plate back.

He shrugged. "Yeah. It's just easier to have one phone rather than a cell phone, a house phone and a phone for the store." She nodded at his explanation, but continued to frown. "What?"

"Why do you have a flip phone?" she blurted, scrunching her nose up in distaste.

He burst out laughing then explained, "I just got it. It was cheaper than all the other phones and I don't need all that 4G, internet crap. I have a laptop and Wi-Fi. I'm good. Now stop making that face and eat." She pursed her lips at him, but he only leaned forward and kissed them. "Eat this breakfast I slaved over for you, woman."

"Oh God, I forgot how good sex can make you so famished!" she moaned a minute later through a mouth full of wheat toast. Through his own mouth stuffed with eggs, he made an affirmative noise before swallowing.

"Me too! I haven't been this hungry for months," he admitted and she stopped eating to stare at him with wide eyes. He noticed her looked and began to wipe at nonexistent crumbs on his face. "What?"

"You haven't had sex for months?"

He flushed and slowly shook his head. "For like five."

She looked him up and down quickly. Nope, he was still fine as hell; blond hair, green eyes, abs as washboard as ever. "Five months? Really?"

He shrugged and offered her a piece of his bacon. "I dunno, it was a dry spell I guess. I've been working a lot so there hasn't really been time for women. It's not like I'm beating people off me with a stick, you know."

Giving him one last skeptical look, she went back to eating and he asked, "When was the last time you had sex?"

"It was Spring, I think…"

"So you were in the same boat as me?" he laughed and she winced.

"Not exactly. It wasn't _this_ Spring," she admitted, slightly bemused by his confused expression. "It was _a _Spring, though… Just the one before the last one."

"Oh my God," he gasped as if her puppy just died. Then he asked, in the most serious voice she had ever heard, "Do you need me to eat you out again?"

She almost dropped her plate as her entire body shook with laughter. She even snorted a few times before she could calm herself again. When she glanced at him, he was smiling at her shyly, his cheeks sporting a little red. She cupped his chin in her palm and pulled him in for a slow kiss. "Thank you for the offer, Sam, but last night made up for everything."

He pressed his nose against hers for an Eskimo kiss. "I'm glad I could help you with that."

He was staring into her eyes, slowly turning her insides to goo, so she couldn't resist informing him that, "If that offer is still on the table, however, I wouldn't mind taking it."

He smirked and lowered his gaze to her breasts and the thin sheet that separated him from them. After taking her plate and setting it aside with his own, he easily slipped into her personal space like he had his own niche there. With his fingers he traced along the edge of the sheet, smoothing his fingertips along the silky skin of her chest. She sighed happily as he leaned them down onto the mattress. "That offer's _always_ on the table, baby."

O0O0O0O0O

"Okay, you do what you usually do and I'll offer constructive criticism."

Four hours later and she was still lounging in bed with Sam Evans, the Energizer Bunny that fulfilled her naughtiest of fantasies. A rabid sex marathon had not been on her agenda for the day, but she supposed it wasn't a waste. In fact, it may have been one of the best days of her life. She was exhausted and sweaty and drifting in and out of sleep between bouts of getting it in, but her vagina was rejoicing to the point where she was positive that in the upcoming week she would receive a "thank you" note and a fruit basket in the mail. It was nice being in Sam's arms all day, whether they were pinning her down or cradling her to his chest. He was especially caring in the afterglows, brushing kisses into her hair, asking her if she was comfortable.

His soft, deep voice was both a soother and a trigger; he could control it so well that anything he said had the potential to pluck at her arousal. With that – along with his corny interjections of innuendo – none of their conversations could be safe and the thought of that excited her.

So she shouldn't have been surprised when a conversation about how much the third X-Men movie sucked – spoken lazily on their backs towards the ceiling – had somehow transformed into a discussion about her lackluster masturbation sessions. One question about why Avalanche wasn't in the Brotherhood of Mutants in any of the movies turned into a discussion of why Sam thought Avalanche's earthquake powers and stupid helmet qualified him as a giant vibrator. That turned into Mercedes saying she didn't want to discuss vibrators which turned into Sam nagging her about her distain towards vibrators which turned into her having to give him too much information about vibrators. But he listened to her attentively, nodding his head as a doctor would while listening to his patient explain her ailment. Then he climbed up on his knees and offered his constructive criticism skills.

"What the hell is your crazy behind talking about?" she laughed, tugging up the sheet he was attempting to pull off of her. They played this tug-of-war game for a minute, but he eventually won and tossed the entire sheet off the bed altogether.

"C'mon, Missy," he insisted as he slid between her legs for what felt like the umpteenth time that day. "Show me how you play with your Kit-Kat so we can figure out why it won't give you a break."

Mercedes threw a pillow at his head, growled when he dodged it, but bent her knees anyway. "What are we doing?"

"_You're_ going to play with yourself and I am going to watch. Then we'll review," said Sam with a wide smile. She narrowed her eyes at him, but he only pressed a kiss to the top of one of her knees. "C'mon. Seriously. I want to see you."

She shivered when his gaze traveled away from hers, down and down her body. Those wicked green eyes were smiling as he took her all in. Honest surprise filled her when her cheeks began to warm up – after all, his eyes were not looking at anything new. They weren't touching on any place his tongue hadn't already been. Regardless, once his eyes lifted to share a glance with her, she blushed all over again.

Her hand was shaking as she pushed it between her thighs, hovered it right above her most intimate place. She watched him, watched his eyes shutter, watched his breath quicken.

"Touch it for me." His lip was trembling as he said it. "Touch it."

"Oh God!" She lowered her fingers and began to stroke her clit. He was still staring at her, watching her pussy, looking at it…

"Now you know you need to wet that finger, silly girl," came his chiding voice suddenly. Her eyes snapped open – When did they close? – and locked onto him. "Suck your fingers," he told her. "Get 'em nice and wet."

God, that voice. She did as she said, lifted her hand to her mouth and fellated her fingers at his whispered insistence.

"Get it sloppy wet… Very good, sexy girl. Play with your pussy now."

She swirled her fingers slowly and her hips joined in, twisting to keep up with the circular motion.

"Faster. Rub it faster." She did as he ordered and her pelvis lifted involuntarily into her hand. "Just like that. Doesn't it feel good? You like fucking yourself, Lil' Missy? Slip a couple fingers inside. I bet it feels nice…" It did feel nice. It felt so good to push her fingers in and fuck herself against them. "Hey, let me taste. Pull your fingers out and let me taste."

He made a show of sucking her fingers clean, stroking up and down the sides of them with slurping noises that made her core throb. He finally released the fingers with a loud _pop_.

"So good. You think your pussy tastes good, baby? Hmm, Mercedes?"

"I don't know," she said softly. He shook his head as he looked down at her, tsked her.

"Why don't you get yourself a taste, too? I wanna see you taste it. Get your lips all glossy with your cream." Again she slipped her fingers inside and it didn't take long at all to get them coated with her thick wetness. She closed her eyes and lifted the digits to her mouth. "Look at me." With a whine, she opened her eyes and glared into his. He smiled crookedly and told her, "Lick 'em. Like a sweet lollipop, right? You taste like candy and honey, right?" As she licked her fingers clean, he bent forward to offer his tongue to help. They twisted and met, tangled together in the tangy taste of Mercedes and she was going to lose her mind because he was pressing his erection against her, rubbing it back and forth over her slit. "Sam!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, pulling back with a quickness that startled her. "You didn't want to share? Okay, sexy girl."

"Sam, no…" she moaned, closing her eyes again and dropping her hand down to cup herself.

"Ohhh," he replied with a smirk he didn't even attempt to hide. "You want to finish fucking your tight cunt for me, right? Go on. Show me how nasty you are…"

With a groan of frustration, she resumed teasing herself, stroking her fingers across her clit and inner lips, slipping them inside and pumping them faster and faster. She worked her body into a frenzy and Sam watched in silence, his expression unreadable, but his gaze never leaving her center. Higher and higher she pushed herself, she wanted to crest, to fall into that sweet climax and never climb out of it and she wanted to do it for him, so he could see, so he could know it was for him. She was almost there. She was so close. Almost…

"Sam, please," she panted, her fingers a blur as they fucked her.

Sam's eyes, which had been locked onto the sight between her legs, flicked up to meet her gaze and he licked his lips before releasing a breath that he had apparently been holding the entire time. He brought his thumb up to his tongue and swiped the muscle across it, wetting it. Then he reached between her legs, maneuvered around her own hand. When his thumb first came in contact with her clit, she moaned with want, but when he began to rub circles into her hard, little button, she threw her head back with satisfaction.

Yes, that's what she needed. So good. So good. It was going to be hard. She was going to come hard. Her fingers were cramping and her thighs were burning and she _came_ screaming his name with her clit twitching against the pad of his finger.

"That's gorgeous. You're wonderful," Sam said, casually dipping a finger in beside hers. She was still shaking with aftershocks as she accepted the kisses he bent down to give her. "Good?"

"Good," she agreed. He settled onto the bed on his side and she curled against him. She pulled her fingers out, but he kept his in, even adding one to help him stroke out every last tremble and twitch of pleasure. "Kiss me."

With his free hand, he cupped the back of her neck and pulled her to him. He kissed her slowly, lips and tongue massaging her own languidly, carefully. The breathiness of their kiss excited her more than anything.

She wrapped her leg around his hip when his fingers finally left her to trace a wet path to her waist and hold her there. She wiggled against him, rubbed her stomach against his erection. "You're hard."

"I'll let you fix that in a minute."

"You sure?"

He put his face into her hair. "Yeah, just… just let me hold you. You need it after that big one."

"That's not fair," she sighed with a pout. She wiggled closer until she could fit her head into the crook of his neck. He rubbed down her back soothingly until he met the curve of her behind – he rubbed that with even more care.

"What baby?"

"How come you can operate my body better than I can?"

His laughter was slight, but the rumble from it vibrated against her cheek in a way that made her smile. "I can make you cream yourself, too. _Jealous_?"

O0O0O0O0O

Finally, Mercedes was back in her apartment, aching all over in a good way and eating a TV dinner because she was deliciously lazy and couldn't rouse herself to do anything more than press a few buttons on the microwave.

She reviewed her day in her head with a fond smile. She'd had countless orgasms given to her on a silver platter by a gorgeous man. Her weave turned out alright after she showered when she got home. BET was playing Cinderella (the one with Brandy and Whitney Houston). There was container of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream in her freezer. She didn't even have to use her AK. Today was a good day.

Even her period starting an hour after she left Sam's was okay because, bless her, Mother Nature was on her side. At least she waited until Mercedes got the attention that she much deserved.

She set down the emptied Lean Cuisine container and curled on her side in the middle of the couch so she could close her eyes and drift off to the Prince's gorgeous voice singing about beautiful girls being wonderful and him loving them…

And then her phone rang. She growled at both being forced to sit up to reach the phone as well as being forced to have contact with other humans. "Hello?"

"Where the hell have you been? I've called you a million times! I left all kinds of messages on your cell! I'm sure carrier pigeons have crashed into your windows by now! Are you alive? Am I talking to a zombie?"

"Kurt! Stop! I'm alright!" she shouted towards the phone, having pulled it away from her ear as soon as his voice became more and more high-pitched. "I'm sorry if I worried you."

"Worried me? Oh my Bad-Romance-Era-Gaga, I was not worried about you."

"Then what?"

"Here, let me just… Take the phone… Take it!"

A loud, disgusting, sickly sniff erupted over the line and Mercedes cringed when she recognized Santana trying to form words between breathless sobs.

"'Tana, baby, calm down. What's wrong?" she asked, clutching her hand over her chest. She looked over at the time on the cable box. It was well past eight o'clock… "Oh God."

A heaving noise and Kurt's soothing voice filled the line for a split second before Santana's heartbroken voice screamed, "Brittany's pregnant!"

O0O0O0O0O

**A/N:** I'm just gonna leave this here and do a Diddy Dance into the sunset. Y'all tell me what you think. (And who else cried when they saw that Glee promo with our loves kissing? Cuz I did. I screamed and I cried as soon as the spirit of White Chocolate Thunder went all through me. Praise!) Oh, and Jadziwine was mean to me and told me that absolutely no one says "diamond in the back" at all so can y'all get her back by reviewing her wonderful story for me? :P _**–DMH**_


	7. SSandSSS

**Author's Note:** Okay, everyone stand and we'll do a collective praise dance for our babies. Yassssssssss LAWD! Mercedes and Sam are everything! That last episode… Anywho, I took a break last week from updating – mostly because I was messing around on the internet and wrote a buncha oneshots on tumblr. But now I'm back! From outer space! And something something something something that sad look upon your face! I never remember the words to that song. Lol! Onward to drama! _**–DMH**_

O0O0O0O0O

Chapter Seven:

_Santana's Sadness and Sexting Sam Sideways_

O0O0O0O0O

Kurt opened the door with a smack of his lips and a side-eye.

"Don't you make that duck face at me," Mercedes chided as she pushed him out of the doorway with the bags in her arms. She stepped into Santana's apartment and quickly scanned the immediate vicinity for any sign of her other friend. "Where is she?"

"She said something about a shower then she turned on Britney Spears and shoved me out of her room." Tilting her head to carefully listened, Mercedes sighed when she could faintly hear the chorus of 'Me Against the Music'.

"Oh Lord."

"Exactly," Kurt replied as he followed Mercedes to the kitchen. "Now, what I was thinking was if Satan hasn't already drowned herself, we could make some popcorn, crawl into bed, watch a teen dramedy and forget that today ever happened."

She set her bags on the kitchen counter with a sigh and went to work emptying them. "I don't even know what happened today."

"Well," Kurt began, watching her set Tupperware container after Tupperware container on the counter. "Brittany's pregnant."

"Is she really or is it like that time she thought she was visited by the stork or that other time when that leprechaun rubbed her belly or the one time she met Brad Pitt and just knew she was going to birth a child from Zimbabwe?"

"More like she walked into the apartment and Santana said, 'Get Lord Tubbington out of your shirt, Britt-Britt,' but it wasn't Lord Tubbington and she's five months preggo." The pair spent the next minute silently screaming and flailing in horror at each other before they finally settled down and he asked, "What is all this stuff?"

"Mostly breadsticks from _Breadstix _in Lima that I had frozen for Brittany-related emergencies. Some ice cream – put this in the freezer for me. And –" She reached into a bag and pulled out a large glass bottle. "Tequila!"

Kurt clapped his hands together excitedly and immediately shut the freezer door to snatch open the fridge in search of margarita mix.

"So, I'm guessing that the dinner was awkward?"

He set the mix on the counter and shook his head. "Dinner didn't even happen. She didn't even have time to make it. Brittany walked in, alone. She said Artie was still at the hotel and the two of them had decided that Brittany would talk to Santana one-on-one and then they would all meet as a group."

Mercedes scrunched her nose up in distaste and went to find a cookie sheet for the breadsticks. "And how did that go?"

"Horrendamente. Santana broke into Spanglish."

"Oh Lord."

"But she didn't cry until Brittany left."

"Well, that's good."

"But she's been in the shower for a really long time," he nonchalantly added as he set the blender on the counter.

"Kurt! Go get her!" With a shake of her head, Mercedes watched the thin brunet scurry out of the kitchen. She sighed and turned to the oven. By the time the first batch of breadsticks were warming in the oven, Kurt had returned with a very puffy-eyed Santana, wrapped up in a fluffy terrycloth bathrobe with a towel twisted around her wet hair.

She pointed to the counter and asked pitifully, "Are those Stix?"

"Yes." Mercedes held her arms out and, with a pout, Santana crossed the room and fell into them – and Mercedes' cleavage. She said something, but the power of Mercedes' breasts muffled the sound. "What?"

Santana lifted her head and repeated, "My life is like a fart."

"Oh 'Tana! Don't say that!" She crushed her bestie back to her chest and cuddled her. "Let's just finish making these goodies and then we'll sit in the living room and talk. Okay?"

Santana lifted her head again to answer, but both women jumped when the harsh sound of the blender suddenly started beating through the air. They turned and scowled at Kurt who was shamelessly staring back at them. "What? Did you _not_ want margaritas?"

"Tequila?" Santana asked as if she discovered that Santa _did_ leave them presents after all. When the first batch of bread was warm and their large glasses were full of yellow-green slush and properly rimmed in salt, the three moved their party to the living room floor.

"So tell me what happened," Mercedes prodded after a few seconds of silence.

Santana's pout had taken a brief hiatus once the margaritas were poured, but now it was back with a vengeance. "So Brittany comes in here… pregnant! And she just starts telling me about how New York has been and asking me why I haven't been calling her like I usually do, but it's like, you're pregnant! Why didn't _you_ call _me_? I'm only the love of your fucking life!" Kurt sighed into his next sip and, like a shark to red water, Santana pursued the sound with a snarl. "What the fuck else do you have to say, Kurt?"

Mercedes arched her eyebrow and turned her gaze to him, but Kurt only stared at the bottom of his glass, his ears red. Then he stated stiffly, "I've said my piece."

"Oh my God, Kurt. What did you say?"

Santana was quick to interrupt him before he could even open his mouth to reply. "I'll tell you what he said. He told me – in front of Brittany – that our faithlessness to one another is what caused this problem. ¿Cómo te atreves?"

"I didn't say it to upset you!"

"Kurt, what the hell?" Mercedes asked.

He turned to her listlessly, his mouth agape and confusion clouding his eyes. "Well, Blaine said –"

Mercedes held her hand up to interrupt. "Blaine?"

"And Blaine! God, don't even mention that one," sneered Santana before stuffing half a breadstick in her mouth.

"What happened with Blaine?"

The Latina took a long sip of her drink to wash down the bread then she replied, "Oh, you don't know? Well, it was a surprise to me, too! Little did I know that I was going to open my door expecting actual fucking support from one of my closest friends, but all I got was the King of the Sugarplum Fairies with Señor Hair Gel de la Bowtie serving up Harry Potter realness and Expecto Patronus-ing their monogamy down my throat. Kurt invited Blaine over this weekend so he could show me and Britt-Britt how a _real _relationship is supposed to work."

"Kurt!"

"That's not true! I just thought it would be nice for all of us to be together!"

"For my big relationship drama bomb weekend festival, Kurt? Really?" Santana broke into a line of dialogue that neither of the others understood nor even tried to understand. All the while, Mercedes could feel Kurt's gaze burning into the side of her face, imploring her to look in his direction, but she gave him nothing more than a subtle headshake of disapproval.

"What else happened, Santana?" she asked as soon as the crying brunette had stopped speaking Spanish. In her peripheral vision, she saw Kurt deflate a bit, but she continued to ignore him.

"Well, Brittany got angry and she left. She wanted to talk alone and I totally understand that because Lord Farquaad was sitting across the room sharing _knowing_ looks with Kurt the entire time – You know, I really don't appreciate you and Blaine discussing my relationship!"

"We only want to help you."

"No necesito your fucking help!" she screeched, yanking herself onto her knees and immediately tipping over when Mercedes yanked her down. Kurt looked even more put out than before, if that was even possible, then he stood and strutted into the kitchen with his chin in the air despite Santana's voice chasing after him. "If you're getting another margarita, bring the jug in here, pendejo!"

"You need to calm down, 'Tana." Santana turned her gaze to Mercedes and immediately her face screwed up in an attempt to hold back the tears that were already streaming down her cheeks.

"Where were you, Mercedes?"

Guilt, heavy and black, pooled in the pit of her stomach. "I'm sorry."

"Tell her how you told Blaine to die," Kurt huffed as he marched back into the room. He ignored Santana's glare and dutifully refilled each of their glasses. Mercedes bit the inside of her mouth to keep from screaming aloud.

"After Brittany left, Blaine told me that I should consider taking a break from her and I told him that I hope the wind catches his bowtie and uses it as a sail to drag him into traffic. Hopefully, his full body cast will stop at his ankles, leaving them exposed just like he likes them. But I didn't say I wanted him dead. I just wanted him out of commission… Or at the very least, he could lose his Broadway spot to Daniel Radcliffe again."

"That's a horrible thing to say!" Kurt burst out.

She only gave a bored glance to Mercedes and continued, "Blaine has a whole lotta opinion for someone who knows nothing about nothing. He and Kurt can stay in their own little bubble on top of their tower of unicorns, glitter and Astroglide staring down at the rest of us in contempt and pity because we don't have what they have." At the smacking of his lips, she turned her gaze on him. "No quiero tu vida, Kurt. I love Brittany and nothing you or your white equivalent of Steve Urkel, can say that is going to change that."

"No one is trying to make you stop loving Brittany, 'Tana," Mercedes said and an immediate wave of appreciation relieved the tension in Kurt's body. His expression must have been a little too grateful to Mercedes because Santana was suddenly rounding on her.

"No, Mercedes. I know you haven't been in a relationship since high school or whatever, but in a _real_ relationship, you don't take threats lightly." The room fell into complete silence as Mercedes tilted her head and tried to process just what _the fuck_ Santana just said.

"Whoa. Whoa, back up for me?"

Santana squared her shoulders and lifted a breadstick which she immediately began to brandish as a pointer as if that would assist in making her point. "Mercedes, you clearly don't remember what it's like to be in a relationship – and you've never experienced what it was like to have people on the outside judging your relationship for its entirety. You may not think that Kurt and Blaine are a threat because you have no relationship for them to look down on, but if you did, you would get it." Strike One. Strike Two. Kurt was staring down nervously at the fingers she was counting off on.

"I don't know why you're suddenly coming for me, but you need to take a chill pill. No, a chillaxitive so you can get all that fuckery out of your system," Mercedes said as calmly as possible. "I understand you're angry and upset, but you need to know that I'm here for you, trying to help you out. I suggest that you attempt to take the help I'm handing you instead of throwing it back in my face just because I didn't agree with you for two seconds. I didn't come here to be spoken at. I came to help."

"You know what? I'm sick of everyone trying to shove their advice down my throat!" The breadstick in her hand shook with frustration as she pointed it at Kurt. "You don't know what you're talking about because the hardest thing you've ever faced in your relationship was being gay in front of people! Your boyfriend is not pregnant with a baby you couldn't give her! I should be the one lecturing you!" She wiped frantically at her eyes, but the tears seemed endless. Mercedes moved forward to comfort her friend, but was suddenly affronted with the breadstick. "And you! Where the fuck do you get off strolling in here after not answering your phone all fucking day and thinking you can give me advice about anything? You're supposed to be on my side! You're so selfish!" Three.

"Okay girl, now have two seats. Sit in the first one and save the other for a theoretical fuck of mine because, right now, I am thoroughly through with you." Mercedes stood and marched to the kitchen to grab her purse and her Tupperware. When she made it back into the living room, Kurt was already at the door, his own bag slung over his shoulder, and Santana was nowhere to be found.

O0O0O0O0O

Mercedes gave Kurt a ride home because, when Santana kicked Blaine out of her apartment, he had taken his boyfriend's car.

Mercedes was regretting this decision to be a good friend by the minute. As soon as the pair had climbed into the car, Kurt's mouth began writing a check with a lot of zeros that his ass was in no way prepared to cash. "Kurt, please stop talking about this?" she asked. She winced at how tired she sounded. "I'm starting to feel like we should go back and apologize to Santana because all these 'I knew this would happen' and 'I told her so' statements that are coming out of your mouth are making me think she was right to get mad. At you."

Kurt only set his chin on the heel of his hand, stared ahead blankly and said, "Kanye shrug."

"Kurt, don't even. I'm not in the mood and I will read you like a rainbow. Butterflies in the sky, Kurt," Mercedes snapped and he paled a bit.

"Sorry, Diva. Let's just talk about something else… Like where you were all day."

She let out a heavy sigh that ended in a growl of frustration. "Let's talk about that later. I think you've been in enough people's business today."

"Why is everyone acting like I can't inquire into the lives of my friends? I am your friend, right? I'm not claiming all the entitlements, but can I at least have a few?"

At the next red light, she turned to look at his face and mirrored his frown. "Fine, I guess… I was with a man."

"Oh my God! You took Porsche to heart, didn't you?" Kurt squealed, his voice thick with the relief of not having to talk about touchy subjects anymore. "You spent the entire day with him?"

She tried to keep her eyes on the road in spite of her bestie's excited bouncing. "The entire day: yes. And last night."

"Last night?"

"I went to see him after you guys dropped me off from the grocery store."

"You went to see him… So you already know him? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Oh Lord. Yes." She chanced a glance in his direction and recoiled at the look of utter betrayal and shock on his face. "I would have told you eventually!"

"Eventually? When was that going to be? The wedding?"

The word made her shiver. What the hell? "Nowhere even close to a wedding."

"Who is this person? Do I know him?"

"I guess so…"

"Mercedes!" She sucked her lip into her mouth and shook her head. "Seriously? We get to this point and you stop? Was it Puck again or something? Does he have a tattoo on his face now and you're too ashamed to admit it? I don't care, honey! You know I don't get scandalized easily."

She took a deep breath and held it for a moment as she mentally listed the pros and cons of the situation. Then she decided that she should not lie to her friends. "Sam. It's Sam."

Kurt's silence made her nervous, but a quick look at him told her that he was just trying to place the name. "Sam? Who is that?"

"Sam I Am… B.L. McGol –"

"O-M-G! _Scandalous_! The stripper?" She cringed at the way his loudly aghast voice filled the cramped space. "Oh my God, Mercedes! Put Porsche away! No!"

"Shut up, Kurt. You said you would be cool about this."

"That was before I learned that you were soliciting the services of a prostitute." His voice was filled with so much shocked outrage that she didn't know whether to laugh or punch him in the face.

Taking a third option, she told him, "He is not a prostitute. How could you say that?"

"Am I really that far off the mark, Mercedes? Does this man not use his body to bring other people sexual pleasure?"

"He's not a prostitute, Kurt. Jesus, take the wheel!"

"I suggest He take that and exchange it for your sanity because clearly that's gone out the window."

"Stop it!"

"I'm your friend!" he bemoaned. "Friends are supposed to stop friends from dating prostitutes!"

"He's not a prostitute! And I'm not dating him. We're just…"

She gripped the steering wheel hard and kept her eyes forward despite being able to see Kurt's mouth falling open in her pesky peripheral vision.

"You're just having sex with the stripper! Mercedes, what? Your life! Your choices! Look at them!"

"Shut up! It's just sex!"

"With a stripper!"

"That doesn't mean anything," she said in a very quiet and slightly hurt voice that forced Kurt into silence with a tired, heaving sigh. They road in that silence for the few minutes more it took to get to his apartment. When she pulled into the parking lot, he turned and said, "Are you sure about this, Mercedes? I mean… this is strange."

"I know what I'm doing."

"Obviously you don't. Starting this relationship with a professional sex –"

"It's not a relationship and he's just a stripper! And not even just that! He owns a guitar shop. I know what I'm doing, Kurt."

He gave her a long, careful look before opening his door. "I'm just trying to look out for you, Mercedes."

"Don't worry yourself or anything over it, Kurtsie." She rolled her eyes at him as he climbed out of the car. "It's nothing serious."

"If you say so, Porsche," he replied right before shutting the door.

O0O0O0O0O

When Mercedes tossed on an old oversized t-shirt and crawled into bed late, late that night, she took a moment of silence to stare at the ceiling and reevaluate her life. She was kinda mad at both of her best friends. She had given all her Ben & Jerry's to one of them. The other had gotten away with the last word of their argument… spat… conversation? And BET was playing a movie with LaToya Luckett and a flying casket. The magic was lost.

Today was not a good day.

Why was she not having sex with that naughty stripper boy that was always ready for all her jelly?

Her cramps were quick and eager to answer that question, not at all deterred by the Midol she had popped before lying down. She hated her vagina. And her ovaries, too – those bitches. She usually had nothing but love for that area of her body. Sam sure appreciated her nether regions – And great. Now she was horny!

She tossed a pillow over her face and growled her frustrations into it.

She wanted to call Sam so badly – wanted to lie in his arms and not have to think about the world. Just like that morning; turkey bacon, off-key Motown and flip phones. She smiled at the thought and tossed the pillow off her face so she could sit up and grab her phone from the charger. Then she stared at it for a few minutes before shyly typing up a text.

_Hey sexy. You awake?_

A few minutes later, the device was vibrating and blinking in her hand. When she opened the new message, nerves were making her heart beat like crazy. _Hey lil miss. Was jus lyin down n thnkin bout u. wht u up 2sxy?_

_Nothing. Just lying down and thinking about you, too. Do you miss me?_

_Hells yea. Cant get 2day outta my head. Am I gonna c u soon?_

His eagerness would always make her smile, she could tell. _I don't think so, baby. I'm really busy this week. Maybe this Thursday or Friday?_

_I got wrk on thurs. fri is good. I wanna c u so bad._

He sure knew how to lift her mood. _I wanna see you, too. I can't stop thinking about all the things you did to me._

_Wht abt all u did 2 me?_

She bit her lip and squirmed a little at that. Yes, she had been quite exploratory with him earlier that day and he appreciated the journey her fingers and mouth had taken along his body. _That too_, she relied. She decided to explore some more. _Do you remember how good I made you feel when I nibbled your ears and then your throat and your chest and down and down and down?_ A full minute passed and she didn't get another text. She was horrified. Had she done something wrong? Was it too much? Before she could fall into a full panic, the phone in her hand began ringing.

"Come over," rumbled Sam as soon as she answered it. She bit her lip at the growl in his voice.

"I can't."

"Let me come over."

"I'm sorry."

The gruff sound of disappointment he let out had her pressing her thighs together, tight. "I want you."

"I know." He chuckled and fell into a comfortable silence she easily joined.

A few moments later, just when she was going to suggest they call it a night, he asked, "So what are you wearing?"

She smiled and rolled onto a comfortable spot on her mattress. "Hmm, I have on a lacy teddy and –"

"Is it red?"

"Mmhmm, sure is, baby. Red like cherry chapstick… Wanna hear about my garters?"

O0O0O0O0O

**A/N:** I enjoy writing arguments, especially when everyone's wrong about something. Lol! So, I know where I'm going with Sam and Mercedes, but I'm totally winging this Brittana subplot. Where do y'all want to see that go? Does anyone have any suggestions for a Klaine subplot? And this story is going to get utterly ridiculous when Artie is introduced. I can feel it in me bones. Anywho, who else witnessed Free Listen Friday or whatever the fuck it's called? The Whitney episode… Mercedes has no solos… Amber was only in two of the songs… Everyone needs to die. But FLF seriously made me so angry that I wrote this real quick to cheer myself up (and shade Blaine). I just want to be happy… _**–DMH**_


	8. JJJandJforaJ

**Author's Note:** I was so angry writing the last chapter. You guys don't even know. My feelings had me veering off in another direction. Lol So I wrote you the chapter I originally intended sans the Santana drama. Yay! And I gave you some reckless Mercedes! Double yay! And hopefully some character development! Triple yay! Also, I have discovered that I have a kink for seeing Chord/Sam in beanies. Quadruple yay! And I'm nice to Sam in this! Quintuple yay! And I'm almost finished with my essay for English! Sextuple yay! And I just really wanted to count up to seven. Septuple yay! _**–DMH**_

O0O0O0O0O

Chapter Eight:

_Jungle Juice, Jawlines and Jonesing for a Jones_

O0O0O0O0O

Mercedes soon discovered that it was very hard to tell Sam that she appreciated him as a person around the dick in her mouth.

The week she had endured up until this point had been long and strenuous with days filled with simpleminded opinions from simpleminded people and nights filled with aggressive cramping without the assistance of chocolate ice cream. Work, as always, was work – undesirable and tedious – but this past week at the high school had been one to call the record books about. Mercedes never thought that she would meet, let alone have to talk to, so many stupid people in her lifetime.

Thanks to an _incident_ at the school involving a tenured teacher, a student and the despicable words, "You'll never make it out of the crack house you were born in, you little shit!" every teacher was required to attend mandatory sessions with a random group of human resource people or life coaches or motivational speakers or whatever the hell they were. Mercedes was not here for it.

Being a music teacher and choir director, Mercedes never saw the need to meet with teachers in the other departments. Hell, she didn't even hang out in the teachers' lounge. She came to work, she taught, she had lunch with the three work buddies she had, she taught some more and then she went home. It was a good system so far and there was absolutely no need to add anything stupid to her schedule – like people.

She didn't know these people.

She didn't want to know these people.

Mercedes didn't want any part of it. Sure, she participated in all the stupid role-playing, she filled out the questionnaires and put slips of paper into the suggestion box, but did she smile about it? No. And why was that? Because this was stupid.

She didn't think it appropriate for teachers and their higher-ups to talk down to the students, so she sure as hell did not appreciate having it done to her and her peers. After every stupid little session, she found herself surprised to not have been patted on the head or at least given a treat with all the "good jobs" the idiotic session leaders tossed around.

But the straw that broke the camel's back was on Thursday, when Steve – of course the man's name was Steve, he looked like such a Steve – adjusted the popped collar of his pastel blue polo shirt and told her that she needed to learn how to be appreciative of the people she worked with.

"Appreciative?" was the only word she could let out of her mouth. Well, there were several others, but it was the only appropriate one for a professional setting.

Steve nodded and continued to flash his veneers in her direction. She curled her lip at him. "Yes, _Mercedes_." She didn't give him permission to call her that. "I've been keeping my eye on you during all our group-bonding activities and it seems as if you are not appreciative of the people around you. You frown, you give heavy sighs and roll your eyes. I'm sure many of the others here have noticed your behavior and consider it somewhat disrespectful." He crossed the deadly silent room to stand over where she was seated. He returned the glare she sent up to him with an expression of smug concern. She didn't even know that such an expression was possible, but the asshole pulled it off. "Perhaps you could consider ways to be more appreciative of the company around you, _Mercedes_."

"Well, _Steve_, I can assure you right now, _Steve_, that the only reason these underappreciated people and I are here is because no one wants to get fired. I can't speak for anyone else, but I know how to do my job. I know how not to belittle my students and the other teachers. I'm fully aware of how to behave in the workplace and, when I want to, I work very well with others, _Steve_. Maybe you should consider that maybe it's not the people that I don't appreciate, but the unpaid hours after classes that I've spent here every day this week, _Steve_. Or, better yet, you should probably consider that it's _you_ and your frumpy khaki pant and loafer combo that I don't appreciate, _Steve_."

Steve dismissed them early that day and told the teachers that each of them seemed to understand what was to be expected of them, so no Friday session would be necessary.

Mercedes certainly appreciated all the high fives she had gotten on her way out of the building.

Unloading on Steve was nice, especially with the week she had been having. When the moodswings, cramps, bloating and general hatred of life caused by her period weren't ailing her, thoughts of Santana or Kurt were. She tried to call Santana twice. Once on Sunday and again on Tuesday, but the girl was ignoring her. The more Mercedes thought the entire situation, the angrier she got; it wasn't her fault that Santana was tripping. She only wanted to help, but – as always – her friend was on the offensive because she was hurting. Mercedes promised to give Santana another week to get over herself, but then she was going over to that demon's apartment and straighten the situation out. Santana could greet her with bitterly or with sweetness, she didn't care.

Kurt on the other hand… Mercedes was the one avoiding Kurt. Especially because Blaine was in town.

She had always liked Blaine, he was nice enough, but together… For a couple that only worshipped the fall and summer lines of Chanel, they were awfully preachy. The name "Santana" had become tabooed in their conversations, but they still gave sly reference to her situation or exchanged those knowing looks Santana had told her about… Mercedes couldn't take it.

And she was also sure that Kurt had told Blaine of her secret stripper sleepover with Sam because she kept catching the glances he sent her way.

She did not _appreciate_ that, so now she was only communicating with Kurt via text message.

And on top of all of this, she was incredibly sexually frustrated, so this week basically sucked.

Friday, Sam had said. Friday. She would wait until…

Fuck it.

O0O0O0O0O

Thank goodness Mercedes walked into the shop when she did and not ten minutes earlier; Sam really didn't need her walking in on his impromptu twerk to the '90s X-Men cartoon theme song that had popped up on his iTunes shuffle.

"Hey Lil' Miss," he greeted as she rounded the counter and snuggled into his open arms. "What are you up to?"

She shrugged and kissed his chin. "Nothing much. Just wanted to see you." He closed his eyes as the warm feeling in his chest that always bloomed whenever he set eyes on her began to spread. "How's work going?"

"Got better," he replied. He dropped a kiss on top of her head then pulled back a bit to drink in the sight of her. Her hair was bone straight today and parted to the side so that every time she shifted her head a little bit, pieces fell into her face. He couldn't help but smile at the endearing gesture she made in tucking the shining dark strands behind her ear. He couldn't help but laugh at the look she gave him when he reached up and loosened the hair again.

"Silly boy."

"Beautiful girl." She leaned up for a kiss he was glad to give her, but first he asked, "Why are you taller today?"

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders then lifted a leg to show off her booted foot. "Slouchy boots with a hidden heel. I just got them. I felt all tall all day! Thank you for noticing."

"But of course." They shared a smirk and he closed his eyes to avoid getting lost in hers; it was hard, but he managed. As much as he wanted to fall into her, get soaked up by her wonderful, he knew he had to hold himself back. They were in a strictly sexual relationship. Sure, it didn't feel like just a sexual relationship to him and, sure, they hadn't spoken about any ground rule for what they had, but for her… He could do this. He could hold back. He could give her want she wanted. He just needed to stop thinking about her like a lovesick puppy dog. He needed a distraction.

Her kisses were distraction enough to allow her to pin him to the wall before he could realize what she was doing. When he finally registered what she had done and the feel of the hard wall against his back, he moaned – if she wanted to take the lead, he would let her. He easily fell into the pleasurable daze of submission, becoming nothing more than a being meant to accept everything she was willing to give him. In that moment, his entire world was the taste of her lips, the feel of her mouth sucking his tongue and the hands stroking his face. Eventually, her lips wandered from his and moved to explore his neck. He dropped his head back, let out a hiss when the tip of her tongue ran across his Adam's apple.

The hands stroking his cheeks and neck began to drift, as well, lower and lower until they met with his belt. She had just begun nibbling his collarbones when she pulled him from his jeans and cupped him with both of her hot little hands.

"Can I play with you, Sammy?" she asked in that sweet little voice of hers, pressing the question just beneath his ear, hot and heavy, where he was apparently most vulnerable. She had his knees shaking. "I wanna show you how much I appreciate you being in my life."

"Yes! Yes, play with me," he begged. When he felt her pull his hands from the back pockets of her skinny jeans and placed them on her shoulders and when those shoulders began to lower, he thought his heart would burst.

Slowly, so slowly, she wrapped both hands around the length of him and dragged his tip across her tongue. "Look at me, Sam." He dropped his chin onto his chest so he could do just that and she repeated the action for the benefit of the eyes that were just going to roll to the back of his head anyway. Sweet girl.

Her tongue was so pink and his dick looked so good on it. But he found his eyes drifting up to hers, falling into her eagerness to please him. "So good," he gruffly told her as she twirled circles with her tongue. He brushed the hair from her face and cupped her cheek. "You're so good to me."

As if that was her cue to kill him, she enveloped him with her mouth, starting with just the crown before moving her hands to take in the rest of him. "Oh God… Fuck!"

She closed her eyes and moaned while she sucked, fully guaranteeing his demise – she was so gorgeous, on her knees, mouth full with sounds of pleasure coming from her throat… He felt himself sliding down the wall and had to brace himself against it when the telltale tightening of his balls started. "I'm going to come."

She gave an enthusiastic hum and he let himself go. Lifting his face towards the ceiling, he cried out at the stars up there. Then she let him fall flat on his naked ass with a chuckle.

"Rude," he said as she climbed into his lap. She merely shrugged then licked at his lips until he opened up and tasted what she had done to him. "You're so mean."

"I'm too sweet to be mean. Let's go upstairs."

O0O0O0O0O

"Yes! Yessssss! Yeah, Sammy! Yes, Sammy! Yes yes yes! Yeahyeahyeah! Sammy! God, Sammy!"

She sure was giving a lot of credit to the man pinned to the bed beneath her, but he felt _so good_ inside of her.

Sam was clearly the one being ravished, she could tell by the way he was clutching the pillow beneath his head for dear life, the way he bit his lips to stop the mantra of "OhGodOhGodOhGod!", the way he looked at her like she was hurting him moments before his eyes rolled back, but she couldn't deny that it was his good dick giving her the ability to do all this. She had her hands flat on his chest, her nails digging in just the way he liked, and she was riding him like a cowgirl into the sunset. And he loved it. The most he could do to help was bend his knees and occasionally thrust up to toss her a bit higher and have her fall down on him a bit harder. And she loved that.

She slammed herself into him, the slapping sound of their joining just as appealing as the feel of it. She threw her head back and laughed, it felt so fucking good – she never wanted to stop. Harder and faster, she bounced, intent on making him beat her to that higher place.

When he wrapped his arms around her waist and yanked her flat against his chest, the change in the angle had her screaming into his shoulder. She bit him, sobbed into his salty, wet skin and continued to ride him, the new pressure on her spot only encouraging her to go harder. A few slaps on the ass pushed her into overdrive.

"You like that shit?"

"I love it," she cried when he did it again. She ground herself into his lap in search of the orgasm. _The_ orgasm. The greatest of her life that would well up from her center and shoot through her body hot and cold and tingling… So close, she could taste it – it tasted like Sam. Perfect. fucking Sam. Beautiful, amazing Sam. Wonderful, good dick slinging… Sam, who was suddenly flipping them over to answer his fucking phone. "Sam?"

"I'm sorry, baby," he panted, flipping his phone open and dodging the fist she used to try to knock it out of his hand. "Hello?"

"Sam, no. No no no," she whined, rolling her hips until his thick cock was rubbing her the right way again. "Hang up the phone, I need it."

"Shit," he said into the phone. He used his free hand to still her body, so she punched him. "Oof! Uh, yeah man! I'm sorry about being late. I got distracted." He glared down at her pointedly and smiled when she stuck her tongue out. "I'll be there in an hour … Yeah, thanks for covering, Russ … Yeah. Bye." He hung up and tossed the phone back onto the nightstand.

"Sam, I will kill you."

"I'm sorry, baby," he said again, lowering himself over her and pressing his face into her neck.

"I don't forgive you. And I think you should get off of me."

He smiled at the pout in her voice and lifted his head to see it on her lips. "What was that? You want me to get you off?"

"Sam, you –" But she couldn't even chide him because he was already moving inside of her, getting her back to the exact moment he had just ruined. "Oh God! G-good Sam! So… Ah! Yes!"

"You still mad at me?" She nodded and he gave her a wicked grin that would have turned her insides into jelly had they not already been jellied. "I'll make you forget that."

Half an hour after the greatest orgasm of her life, Sam swaggered out of his bathroom, freshly showered and beautifully butt-naked. He smiled at her lounging since she was still draped across his bed, fiddling with the edges of his sheets with a goofy grin on her face. "Feeling good, Missy?"

"Feeling great," she replied as she rolled onto her back and looked over to where he was going through his dresser in search of clothing. She cringed at what she saw and sat up. "Sam! Your back!"

He frowned at the panic in her voice before registering what she said. "Oh, don't worry about that. Look, you kinda got my front, too."

His body looked like a roadmap thanks to her and he was hand-waving it and laughing it off? The crisscrossing scratches had to hurt – he had a bite mark on his shoulder for goodness sake! It just looked so… obvious that he had been mauled. "Are you sure it's okay? I know you have to work now."

He pulled some jeans on and shrugged. "I'm sure those freaky old ladies down at the club will love it. I look like I got into something naughty – Wait, I totally did get into a naughty girl!"

"Sam, seriously!" she giggled, sitting up on her knees.

"You know what you can do to make it up to me?" he asked as he walked up to the bed and into her arms.

"Hmm?"

"You could let me take you out to dinner tomorrow night."

That sounded wonderful to her, but… "I don't know about that, Sam."

"It wouldn't be a date," he hastily replied, as if he had been expecting her rejection. "I just… don't want to go out to dinner by myself. Go with me. I haven't had sushi in forever."

"Sushi?"

"_Sushi Rock_ sushi." The smile on his face let her know that he already knew he had caught her, so she gave in and told him, "Yes."

O0O0O0O0O

On Friday night, he picked her up in a shiny red truck and drove them to _Sushi Rock_.

"So this is totally a date," he told her when they pulled into the parking lot. "I know that you don't really want to date me, but last night… I just said 'fuck it' and now this is a date. I decided."

"Well… that explains the date panties I'm wearing," she replied into the awkward silence that filled the cab when he turned off the engine and the radio. She brushed a hand through her hair – hair that took an hour to work into relaxed looking waves because ten minutes after she turned on her flat iron, she realized that she was dolling up to go out on a date with her stripper and the shaking of her hands ruined all attempts to straighten anything – and smiled at him. "Let's go."

She chose to ignore the pleased curve of his lips as they walked hand-in-hand into the building. They didn't have to wait long since Sam had called in for a reservation that morning and were soon seated in a nice corner, perusing the drink menu.

"I need something with champagne in it. I can't remember where I was this one time, but I got this cocktail that was made with champagne. It was _amazeballs_."

"Yeah?" he chuckled. "I think they have something with champagne… I'll get one, too. Just to try it out."

"Just so you know in advance, I may or may not pick sushi off your plate, but if you try to get at my Golden Dragon roll, I'm going to bite you… And not in the fun way that makes your legs twitch."

"Duly noted, as long as you stay away from my Mac 'n Cheese."

She snorted and started to flip through her menu. "They have macaroni and cheese here? Oh God, they do! Are you one of those people who goes to seafood places and orders steak? Do you order chicken at steakhouses?"

"Yeah, I do," he said, poking a finger at the nose she had scrunched up at him. She leaned forward and kissed him. And kissed and kissed him until their waitress came back to interrupt them by taking their orders. He leaned back, gave her an "I'm gonna fuck you later" smile and then turned and gave the waitress an "I'm gonna fuck Mercedes later" smile, too. The waitress glanced excitedly at her with a blush and then hastily took their orders and menus so she could book it out of there. When she left, Mercedes slapped his arm playfully.

"You are a mess!"

"You love it."

And she did. She truly did. Sam was funny and charming; his smile made her heart beat faster, his laugh made her breath catch. He was beautiful and amazing… "Oh God."

"What?"

She shrugged off her revelation and pasted a smile on her face. "Nothing, just… How was the store today?"

"Great, actually. I got two middle schools to order instruments for their jazz bands." She reached out to absently trace a finger along his jawline as he continued his story. He leaned into her touch as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And it was.

Half an hour later, he was nibbling on her jawline to make up for the piece of sushi he had stolen from her plate and she was trying her damnedest not to moan and alert everyone to their freaky sexcapades in the corner. He was just brushing her hair away from her neck and stroking the skin he exposed with his tongue when, suddenly…

"Oh my God! Get it, Ms. Jones!"

Mercedes jolted up from the puddle she was melting into and gasped at the sight of a young couple from her sixth period. "Oh Jesus."

Sam leaned back into his seat and looked to Mercedes to see what she would do while he attempted to rub the red from his ears. She stared at her sniggering students for a moment before flashing the pair a smile. "Hi guys! How are you?"

"Good, Ms. Jones," the young man said as his girlfriend continued to giggle at Sam. "We were just heading out and we noticed y'all… _sitting _over here."

"We just wanted to say hi," the girl said. She grabbed her boyfriend's hand and tugged him away. "G'night Ms. Jones!"

"Yeah. Have a _real good_ night!"

"'Night, Lauren. James," Mercedes managed to croak out as Sam burst into laughter. She covered her face with her hands. "Oh God, everybody's gonna know about Ms. Jones getting it in at the sushi place now!" He only continued to laugh until her embarrassment died down. "It's not funny!"

"_It's hilarious_, Mizz Jones!" he corrected her. "I think that little dude has a crush on you. He kinda threw me a mean look."

"Shut up! He did not!" She poked him in the side for his teasing and avoided the next kiss he tried to give her. "No, sir. You wait until we get home. No more public humiliation."

"Shush, you know you like those kids having crushes on you." She rolled her eyes, but he spotted the smile curving her lips. "You like teaching?"

She nodded. "Sometimes it's tiring – like this entire week – but I really love it. The feeling you get when you see a child actually take in and apply something that you taught them… It's just wonderful."

"I bet you're great at it." She smiled and lowered her head until her face was hidden behind her curtain of hair. He tucked the strands behind her ears so he could see her reddened cheeks. "Seriously… You must be a great teacher. Music teachers are usually awesome, but I can just tell that you're even more amazing. And I haven't even heard your singing voice, yet."

"Really? I didn't sing anything around you?" He shook his head. "I'll amend that for you when we get home."

"So, this home you speak of… mine or yours?"

"Hmm… Mine."

He reached under the table and found her hand, their fingers threading smoothly, naturally, perfectly. "And what will we be doing there?"

"Hmm," she hummed as he nuzzled her cheek. "Maybe we could pick up a bottle of wine…"

"Wine? If we're talking alcohol, I kinda want to get you drunk and do naughty things to you. Let's get more than wine," he whispered. She turned to rub her nose against his.

"Alright. We'll stop at a Kroger and we'll get some stuff so we can make a big ol' jug of jungle juice."

"And watch movies and drink until I fuck you on your coffee table, right?"

"Sounds like a plan."

O0O0O0O0O

**A/N:** I go to Sushi Rock too much. Just naming shit off the menu from the top of the dome. Smh.

I laughed so hard while writing the first sentence of this chapter – you don't even know. Random thought, but I love how many words there are for penis. (Octuple yay!) Until next chapter, you guys. _**–DMH**_


	9. CCinCCC

**Author's Note:** You guys remember when I said I knew where I was going with Mercedes and Sam? Remember that shit? Lies. My mind totally forgot what my intentions for this chapter were, so I just winged it and tried to push it into the path of what I have planned for our couple in later chapters. In other news, I'm gonna put all these drabbles I wrote on Tumblr on this site so the Tumblr-impaired person who messaged me forever and a year ago can read them… and the rest of y'all, too, I guess. Also, I would very much like to thank everyone who has read, reviewed, alerted, favorited, PM-ed me, etc. You guys are super encouraging and very fun to write for, so thanks. And shout out to everyone who teases me about that "c" word in the reviews. _**–DMH**_

O0O0O0O0O

Chapter Nine:

_Closer Conversations in Cozy, Comfy Comforters_

O0O0O0O0O

"Are you drunk yet?"

Sam let out a low chuckle and dropped his head back on the sofa. "So drunk!"

"Me too!" she giggled. He moved his head to look down at her when she stretched across his lap and groped him. She was so pretty… beautiful, laid out on his knees, trying to stifle her laughter by cupping her hand over mouth. She was clearly a happy drunk and that made him a happy drunk, too, so he lifted his glass of vodka, orange soda and whatever the hell else Mercedes had put into that jug and gave a private toast for compatibility – How else could they have a thirty minute discussion about how the world will explode from paradox if Svedka was not voted the number one vodka of 2033 and _not _be perfectly compatible? – before downing the rest of it. "Sammy, you're so big."

"Thank you, darlin'," he graciously accepted before absently offering back, "I like your tits."

"Me too!" she gasped, rolling onto her back and bouncing her chest some for both of their benefits. "Let's play a game."

"Like board or video…?"

"Like sex."

"Oh thank God, I was scared you were gonna make me attempt Scrabble." She laughed and wacked him gently on the chest with the back of her hand. "So… how are we gonna do this? Rock, paper, scissors for sexual favors? Naked Twister? Wanna roll some sex dice?"

She sat up and narrowed her eyes at him. "How did you know I have sex dice?"

His own eyes widened with intrigue. "You have sex dice?"

"Let's role play," she quickly suggested, pressing a kiss to his lips that was even more intoxicating than their jungle juice. "Let's play that… you're a crazy, psycho serial killer and I'm the dumb girl who walks in the room and asks, 'Is anyone there?'"

After he stopped laughing, he nodded and said, "Okay, that's hot. Let's do that."

"Okay, go hide in my bedroom."

"I'll just take my usual spot," he replied, pushing himself onto his feet with a drunken smile that was shamelessly attractive.

"Creeper!" He waved off the comment before disappearing behind her bedroom door. She gave him until a count of ten before she stood on her own two wobbly legs and made her way to her room. She opened the door only slightly and peeked into the dark room slowly and carefully.

"Hello? Is anyone in here?" she asked, her voice in a higher pitch than usual – her attempt at a ditzy blonde voice. She didn't bother with the lights – they never did in horror movies – and walked into the center of the room. "Hello?"

A slow creaking noise filled the room, effectively sending a few chills down her spine until she turned and saw a shirtless Sam standing in her closet and trying his damnedest not to burst into laughter. "Grrrrr."

"Oh no!" squeaked Mercedes, clutching her hands to her chest. She shook in fright as the man held his arms up Frankenstein-style and moved at negative ten miles per hour in her direction. Once he got close enough to tickle her sides, she dodged him and ran to the other side of the bed. He followed at a glacial speed that was so comical that he held his hands up in a timeout gesture so the both of them could take a break and get all their giggles out.

"Oh no! I've fallen - _accidentally_!" she cried out after a dramatic fall backwards onto the bed following their break. Sam gave her an evil smile and advanced slowly. "Oh no! I'm still on the ground for some reason!" Somehow, he managed to turn his snort of laughter into a growl. "Oh no! I'm on the ground because… My ankle's broken! Yeah, that's it! Oww, my ankle!"

Finally, Sam made it to the bed and reached out to catch her ankles and drag her to the edge of the mattress. She giggled and squealed as he nipped and licked at her neck and chin.

"You're not supposed to be laughing. I'm an evil monster murderer man," he said, lifting his head to smile down at her.

She smiled back and wiggled out of her shirt with his help. "Well, you're tickling my neck. You're supposed to be killing me, not eating me."

"I was licking you. Like ice cream," he said, pressing his mouth against her shoulder and flicking his tongue out to sample the freshly bared skin. "But since you're asking for it, I happen to have a long knife to stab you with. Muahahahaha."

"Stab! A knife!" She scoffed at him, but allowed him to pull the jeans down her legs anyway. "That's not sexy. At all."

"I'm drunk – dick metaphors are a little hard right now."

"And now you're making puns! What a turn off," she teased, even as she rubbed herself through her panties.

"Grrrr!" He pounced on her and, after yanking down one cup of her bra, allowed his tongue to go to work on her nipple. She dropped her head back with a sigh and buried her fingers into his thick hair. He was hovering over her body, one of his feet still on the carpet while the knee of his other leg was pressed into her mattress helping to keep him steady along with the two hands he was fisting the covers on either side of her with. His enthusiastic slurps and sucks brought a smile to her face, but her impatience fed her mischief, so she taunted, "You aren't a very good movie monster, Sammy. I thought you'd be scary or at least meaner, but you have the sweetest look on your face right now."

With a grunt, he took the nipple he had been tonguing between his teeth and glared up at her. She would have giggled at him, but the sudden shock of the large hand pushing into her panties had her gasping instead. How could she forget how ruthless he was with his fingers? They worked her into a frenzy rather quickly; they slid along her folds, spread her wetness and used it to stroke her clit with until she was purring like a kitten. Her heels were digging into the bed, helping her leverage so that she could lift her hips into his hand. Without words, she begged him into pushing his fingers into her, pleaded with him to search out her spot and caress it until her eyes crossed.

"Oh God, Sammy, fuck me," she moaned, reaching out to find a pillow to clutch tight to her chest. But he cruelly ignored her in favor of continuing the twirling if his fingers in between her thighs. This torture of his was quite exquisite, especially when he set the thrusting dance of his fingers to words.

"I like it when you beg," he whispered. The rush of pleasure through her was so pure, she was positive for a moment that it had sobered her. But, if that were true, why was the room still spinning? "I'm a monster, remember baby? I gotta be mean."

"No… no. You don't gotta…" she replied, pushing her hand into her panties beside his. She scratched at his knuckles fruitlessly. He didn't stop, only sped up his artful strumming of her arousal. "Be nice. Baby, be nice."

He chuckled into her ear, a dark, sexy sound, and pressed his thumb into her clit until she cried out. "I gotta be mean… I gotta be so mean to that pussy, so I gotta get you nice and wet, right? Nice and wet so I don't hurt you when I'm being so mean. Maybe I should make you come first?"

He was already lifting her up before she could respond. A few quick flicks of his long digits and she was teetering on the edge of climax and oblivion. Oblivion because if she didn't come right in that moment, right that second, she was sure that she would die. She screamed as it rushed through her, fast and hot and heavy through her veins, slow and light from her center until she felt like she was floating.

"Yeah, that got you ready," he stated, almost as if he was telling her what time it was. He didn't bother wiping her wetness off his fingers when he stroked them across her cheek and whispered for her to roll over onto her knees. She tried to calm herself from the aftershocks she was still experiencing with deep breaths and by focusing on the rustling sound of his jeans as he pulled them off behind her. He was inside of her before either method began to even show signs of working.

She tightened the death grip she had of her pillow until her hands hurt, but she couldn't loosen them and risk flying away into this blinding pleasure. Was she coming again? Was she still coming? Was this even an orgasm? Sam didn't give her enough time to figure it out. Instead, he coiled himself around her, wrapped her in his strong arms and pounded into her until an operatic note was ripped from her throat, setting the most beautiful tone for the next hour.

"That's right, baby," he growled into the back of her neck, right before licking sweat from her nape. "Scream for me. This is a horror movie, right? Scream."

His hands crawled all over her, pulled at her, squeezed her, roved across her body as if they owned it and she used her own hands to guide them – her breasts, her stomach, her neck, her hips, her waist… Those long fingers of his latched onto her waist and, suddenly, her hands were useless. Her hips were useless – he had no need for the feeble thrusts she pushed back at him, especially not now that he was in control, pulling and lifting her into his body, onto his cock. Faster and faster, harder than he had ever fucked her and even harder still until the sharp slap of sex was filling and echoing through the room. Her eyes were closed, so she couldn't find a pillow to ground herself with, so she fell forward and buried her face into her folded arms.

He followed her down, his lips still pressed to her neck, still whispering into her hot, receptive skin.

"Lil' Miss, you okay?" he asked much, much later. Mercedes was still on her stomach, still facedown in the pillow she had screamed three of her orgasms into. He sat up and rubbed a hand down her back until she stirred, just barely. "You okay?"

"Shut up. I'm dead, Mike Myers," her muffled voice informed him.

"_Michael_ Myers. Mike Myers is Shrek."

"Shush. I'm dead."

"_Don-kay_!" he said with a Shrek impression as he stroked a hand down her behind and gave it a slap. She threw a look of gaping shock over her shoulder and burst into laughter.

"You're so crazy!"

"You love it," he countered and when she nodded a warm rush went through him, so he rolled over until he was covering her with his body. "You have a lovely behind," he told her. "It's beautiful… sexy. It feels so good. Your skin is so soft… all over. Here." He brushed his lips against her shoulder causing her to shiver. "Your skin is so perfect… Beautiful… Delicious… Okay, I just talked myself into another boner. Flip over. We're going again."

O0O0O0O0O

As morning light flooded the room and revealed their sins to the world – a trail of discarded clothes, a tangle of limbs in the middle of the bed, an orange stain on the comforter made by Mercedes when she had rushed into the bedroom with yet another drink – Sam closed his eyes to the brightness and, as he stared into the red of his eyelids, he wondered whether or not he had actually fallen asleep. It seemed as if he had ended their long night with her head on his chest, stroking her silky hair with his fingers, despite her murmured protests, and this morning her head was on his chest and he was stroking her silky hair with his fingers…

He must still be drunk, he decided. Otherwise, he would have realized the difference between night and day.

For all he knew, he had lain awake for hours or minutes or days – time had eluded him. Perhaps because he was still doing the same things, thinking the same things: last night, he decided that he wanted Mercedes. That decision had come long before the drinking, long before their date, in the shower. That decision choked a catchy Keith Urban song he couldn't stand, but couldn't help but sing back down his throat until his eyes watered and everything else burned. That burn had gone deep and lasted long into the morning like a brand and it showed no signs of healing, especially not with Mercedes wrapped up in his arms, beautiful and sexy and adorable as she began to wake.

He closed his eyes and relaxed his body as she began to stir, rubbing at her eyes and releasing tiny yawns that brushed against his neck and gave him pleasurable shivers all over. When she sat up, he let her, though the temptation to keep her close was strong. She didn't move for awhile and, just when he was about to peek one eye open to see what she was doing, she said, "I know you're not sleeping, Sammy, so stop the act."

His lips twitched into a smile and he opened his eyes. "How could you tell?"

"Besides the fact that you didn't sound like a banshee choking on a chicken bone? Oh, I dunno."

"Damn, is my snoring that bad?"

She gave him a sleepy grin and straddled his lap. "Worse."

He pulled the comforter over them as she snuggled closer, her head on his shoulder and her hands on his chest. "This is cozy."

"Mmhmm," she replied. "Thank you."

"For being a good pillow substitute?" he asked, settling back against the pillows and closing his eyes once again. He felt her mouth working against the skin of his shoulder as her soft laughter filled the air.

"No, but that too. I meant, thank you for taking me out last night." A finger on his chin tipped his head down so that she could plant a kiss on his lips. "And thank you for drinking with me last night. You have no idea how much I needed that."

"Really? Stressful week?"

"You don't even know," she huffed and he opened his eyes just in time to catch the look of frustration clouding her features before it faded. "One teacher lost his damn mind at a student and because this idiot has tenure, instead of firing his ass, all the teachers had to go through these stupid classes on how to have common sense in the workplace. I had _so much_ social interaction with so many people I don't care about. God, just thinking about it now is making me want to get up and find the Purell in my purse!"

"Was it that bad?"

"Sam, I had to introduce myself to people," she told him, her voice tainted with horror. "I had to make small talk. I had to pretend to care about people's kids. It was awful."

"Well, I'm glad I could help you with that. All better now?" The finger he was smoothing across her forehead was suddenly facing a bumpy path as her brow furrowed. "Not all better?"

A sigh and a roll of eyes later, he was getting a detailed – and colorfully languaged – account of the drama engulfing two of the closest relationships she had in her life. He pretty much guessed that Santana and Kurt were the friends he had seen her with at the club and grocery store and, from what he had seen of the trio, they seemed like a pretty tight-knit group, so the story Mercedes was telling came as a bit of a surprise.

"What's wrong with Kurt?"

She lifted her head with a pout of confusion. Probably due to his question interrupting her soliloquy concerning Santana's issues. "What?"

"You said Kurt's in a happy relationship with that bowtie guy, right? So what crawled up his butt and died?" She set her chin on his chest and gave him a curious look, so he continued, "I mean, why does he feel like he has to tell you girls how perfect his relationship is all the time?"

"You think something's wrong with his relationship with Blaine?"

He hated the worry that further weighed her frown down and didn't want to add to it, but he knew she wanted an answer, so he said, "I don't know either one of them, so I can't say anything for sure, but it sounds like he's trying to prove something to himself more than he's trying to prove it to y'all. What's that saying, 'great braggers, little doers'?"

"I hadn't even thought about that," she admitted, dropping her head back down on his chest. "He has been kinda hard on Santana lately." Her head suddenly popped back up. "Do you think I was too hard on Santana?"

"Naw, she was trippin'," he replied and she dropped her head again to bury her giggles into his chest. "Are you gonna talk to her soon?"

"I guess so."

"I think that's a good idea. She can apologize and then you can help her with her situation. If you feel like it, I mean." The last part of his sentence was accompanied with a heavy yawn that he had to stifle with his hand.

"Did you sleep last night?"

"I dunno. Maybe." He shrugged and used his fingers to push the downturned edges of her mouth into a smile. She shook him off and continued to frown. "I don't remember falling asleep or waking up. I think I was thinking."

"You _think_ you were thinking?" That statement coaxed a smile from her. "You have to put a lot of effort into that, huh?"

"Shush you. I _was_ thinking. About last night." He was careful to watch her face after he said that and she was just as careful to guard her expression. He tried to catch her eyes, but she was suddenly very interested in an old scar on his arm. "What did you think about last night?"

"It was fun being drunk with you," she said a little too quickly.

"And before that?"

"Our dinner?"

"Our date," he corrected and he caught the tiniest frown on her lips before a forced smile pushed it away. She sat up and crawled off his lap, mumbling something about her hair looking a mess. "You had a good time, right?" She was biting her lip when she turned from her perch on the side of the bed and her eyes were wide and pleading for him not to dig. Begging him not to search for answers she couldn't give. But he couldn't help it. When she didn't answer, he laughed at himself – _to _himself, "I'm just a good time, right?"

"Sam, don't say that –"

"No, no, don't worry about it, Missy," he said, rolling off the opposite side of the bed. He made sure his smile wasn't too wide or too bright, he made it reassuring and easy. Sam was always good at being easy.

"Sam, I'm sorry," she said as he pulled his jeans on, but he just shook his head and rounded the bed to gather her up in his arms.

"Nothing to apologize about, baby," he told her and before she could protest, he pressed a kiss to her lips and willed her to let it go. And Mercedes obviously wanted to let go, so she kissed him back and his heart sank, but a smile was still pinned to his face when he pulled away. She tossed a few nervous glances over her shoulder on the way to the bathroom and he continued to assure her with his easy grin and the unspoken promise that he would be gone by the time she was finished brushing her teeth.

She'd call him when she needed him.

He must still be drunk, he decided. Otherwise, he would have realized the difference between fucking and making love.

O0O0O0O0O

**A/N:** What was that? ANGST! Fuck yeah angst! Anyway, before I start my evil cackle, I'll just tell y'all that my story is back on track so I'll – hopefully – be writing more of it. AND, next chapter, hot mess Artie. Yay cuz I hate half of this chapter (I won't tell you which half because I don't want to hurt its feelings) and I'm glad it's finally over. Commence cackle of evil. –_**DMH**_


	10. MMandMM

**Author's Note:** Hey y'all! So. I updated. Yup. Nothing special about that or nothing. *Spots the lighting of torches and the sharpening of pitchforks* See, what had happened was… The way my bank account is set up… That joke is like a couple years old now… I'M SORRY! So I've been lacking motivation to write this story and it especially didn't help that my computer lost its damn mind and deleted the original first half of this chapter, thus making me have to rewrite something I was happy with, which ain't never good with me. Yup, so I can come with a bunch of excuses or I could just present the chapter. So here's the chapter. After you finishing rereading this entire story to remember what the hell the plot is, would you be so kind as to leave me a review? Please and thank you. _**–DMH**_

O0O0O0O0O

Chapter Ten:

_Magic Mikes and Manic Mercedes_

O0O0O0O0O

"Dude, it is… something o'clock in the morning. What the hell are you doing here?"

What the hell _was_ he doing there?

Sam tried to think back on his eventful morning. First, he had woken up – maybe – next to a beautiful woman. Then he had an epiphany about his relationship – or lack of one – with said beautiful woman. Then he had an epiphany about his life on the drive back to his place. And then he thought about that epiphany in the shower for an hour. And then he decided that he was depressed beyond all hope. So he wanted to see one of his friends today. And _that's_ what he was doing there.

He opened his mouth to explain to his buddy, Mike Chang, but the tired man just held his hand up for silence and walked away from the door, leaving it open hopefully to let Sam in and not just because he was too sleepy to remember to close it. Sam closed the door once he was inside and followed Mike to his freshly renovated kitchen – all finished cabinets and chrome appliances. He sat on a stool as Mike clanged around his kitchen without a word, but with several yawns and it wasn't until the other man set a mug in front of him that he realized that he had been lost in thought. Or fantasy, rather. Mike glanced at the stove to make sure the teapot was on and then plopped down on the stool across from Sam. Then, slowly, he reached out to poke his friend in the nose. "What the hell are you doing here? It's butt'clock in the morning."

"It's 11:43," Sam said after a glance to his phone.

"It's _Saturday_," complained the other as he poured spoonful after spoonful of sugar into his own otherwise empty mug. "So it's buttmunch o'clock in the AM."

"The hell are you doing?"

"Tina won't let me have coffee until after the wedding because she says it makes me jittery and nervous so I need to get my fix somewhere and why the hell are you asking me questions? I ask the questions here. Why are you here?"

"I can't come visit my friend?"

"Not at the break of dawn – excuse me – Not at the break of _ass_, you can't," Mike groused, stuffing a spoon of sugar into his mouth.

"Diabetes is gonna go well with your tux."

"Why. Are. You. Here?"

"Mike. I'm a stripper."

Mike blinked at him and then spooned himself some more sugar. "This isn't some existentialist crap, is it? Because my brain can't handle this right now."

"It kinda is."

"Is it about your lady friend?"

Sam's eyes widened with surprise that his friend, half asleep in his cup, was so spot on. "Yeah, it's about her. How'd you know?"

Mike opened his eyes – which he had closed – just enough so Sam could catch the way they rolled. "You only talk to her more than Tina talks about table arrangements, man. You're all serious about her. It creeps me out."

"I don't talk about her a lot."

"Every time we talk."

"I'm not… serious about… it."

"Once, you called her 'Mother Mercy' and you crossed yourself. Sounds damn serious to me." Sam twisted his lips thoughtfully at this newest epiphany, but Mike gave him no time to ponder it. Instead, with a yawn, the man gave a follow up. "So she has an issue with you being a stripper?"

He nodded, his eyes dropping down to his lap. He hadn't been ashamed of what he had to do for money in years. But now. Now that he'd woken up this morning on the real world side of the bed… "I think so. Yes."

Mike sighed and drummed a random beat Sam didn't have to glance down to know his feet were tapping along to. "Do you two talk?"

"What do you mean?"

"Talking is something that occurs when you're not trying to put each other's body parts in your mouths."

"Shut up."

"Do you have discussions? Do you talk about what she likes or your future plans? Does she know your favorite TV show? Have you mentioned your siblings? Talking other than the stuff that happens after sex or leading to sex?"

Mike raised a point there. They had talked. In bed. In between rounds of sex. At dinner. "We went out on a date and talked then, I guess."

"One date? When?"

"Yesterday. Last night."

"And that's when she decided that she couldn't be with a stripper."

"Um, no. This morning-"

"You mean earlier – Wait! You guys had sex again and then she decided that she couldn't be with a stripper?"

"She didn't say that exactly."

"Then I don't understand. Actually, I don't think I ever understood. What?"

Sam groaned in aggravation. "I have no idea what happened, man. We were doing so well. The sex is awesome." He crossed himself. "She's just amazing and beautiful and talented and hilarious. And our date went really well, I thought. But this morning, I brought up the date, y'know, to suggest another one since our first one went so well and she just gets this look on her face… And I realized that I'm a stripper so… yeah."

"So that's a bad thing?"

"I forgot how some women don't like it. So yeah, it's bad."

The pot began to whistle, so Mike got up and turned off the stove. He returned to the island and poured first Sam's cup and then his, then tossed tea bags into both mugs. After he put the teapot back on the stove, he said, "Whenever you talk about her, it always sounds like you two enjoy each other. At least you do, so I'm guessing that she enjoys you a lot, too. So maybe you should try talking to her about it. Explain to her what your life's like or something."

"You think that will work?"

"I don't freakin' know. Just try it."

"You really are the worst friend ever."

"I tried," said Mike, lifting up his mug to take a sip. Sam did the same and immediately scowled at the taste.

"This is disgusting!"

"Tina's mother gave me this. You. Will. Deal," Mike said with finality before lifting his own mug back up and sipping out of it, almost defiantly. Sam set his own tea down and crossed his arms. Mike sighed. "Drink it with me, man. I'll convince Tina to make pancakes whenever she wakes up if you do."

Sam picked up the repulsive drink again. "As long as there's blueberries in them."

"Done." Then the two were silent because they were trying to gulp down the rest of the tea without throwing up. When Mike was done, he got up and poured another cup. "Want some?"

He shook his head. "Masochist. So are we playing video games or something until your fiancé wakes up?"

"_We're_ not doing anything. _You_ can sleep on the couch. _I'm_ going back to bed."

"It's after noon now!"

Mike shrugged and gave a dramatic yawn, stretching his long arms above his head before hopping off the stool and wandering towards the door. "Good night."

"Thanks, Magic Mike," Sam called after his friend when he got up and walked out of the kitchen.

"Damn you, Channing Tatum!" growled Mike, shaking his sugary tea in the air as he rounded the corner.

O0O0O0O0O

"I decided that I need to be forgiven," Santana said as soon as Mercedes opened her door. "But before I decided that, I decided to go to eat all of the breadsticks you left over my place, so now I need to sit down before my stomach decides to give you back the breadsticks."

Mercedes scrunched her nose and stepped aside so the other woman could walk in. Santana did, then she took her usual spot on the couch and stretched out, rubbing her stomach. Mercedes sat down on her overstuffed chair and tucked her feet under herself. There was a moment of silence that only the background noise of _Breaking Amish_ could break until Mercedes sighed.

"So…?" she prompted and Santana stared back at her in confusion.

"So… what?"

"So you want to be forgiven?"

"Yeah, I already said that."

"That wasn't an apology!"

"You let me into your house! We're watching Amish people!" Santana tossed up her hands, her face a mask of shock. "This feels forgiven."

"We need to talk."

The groan her friend gave was long and ridiculous, dragged out until Santana was breathless and her voice was cracking. "Fine. Let's talk."

"Okay," she said, unwrapping and then rewrapping her head scarf as she leaned closer to the other girl. "You start."

Santana rolled her eyes, but said, "I'm sorry for the hurtful things I said to you."

"And?"

"And I'm sorry I hurt your feelings."

"And?"

"And I'm sorry I said that thing about you not understanding relationships. That was out of line."

"And?"

"And I'm… sorry for acting all crazy."

"And?"

"…And I'm sorry for ignoring your phone calls."

"And?"

"And I'm sorry about the 'Red Wedding' episode of _Games of Thrones_! What the hell else do you want me to say?!" Santana squawked and Mercedes fell against the arm of her chair in a fit of giggles. Santana sighed and shook her head. "I can't stand you."

"Lies."

"Yeah. Lies," Santana admitted, sending a small smile her way that Mercedes just had to return. Then she climbed off her chair and onto the couch so she could cuddle close to her bestie. "Noooooooo, stop! I had too many Stix! I'm gonna die! Get ooooooooooooff!" Mercedes ignored her and didn't say another word until Santana was flat on her back and Mercedes was on top of her, her face snuggled against her shoulder. "I hate you so much."

"Lies."

They watched an hour of the Amish Mafia marathon like that before Santana had to get up to get some water. Then they discussed Sam to which Satan's Sound Advice gave her: "I suggest you get some cinnamon and a pair of kneepads because that's the only way I see you cleaning this mess up."

O0O0O0O0O

"I brought you some apple pie and an apology blowjob," Mercedes said as soon as he opened the door to his apartment. Sam looked, scruffier that usual – maybe because it was Sunday.

He was silent for a moment, staring thoughtfully at the container in her hands, and she was scared he was going to reject her like she rightfully deserved, but then he stepped aside and waved her in. As tempting as it was to turn and walk backwards so she could keep her eyes on his face, she had forgotten how steep the staircase up to his place was, so she had to keep her attention on that. She did, however, manage to distract herself from the steps long enough to say, "I thought you were going to turn me away."

"You had me at 'apology blowjob'," he told her as they reached the top. She giggled and he laughed and, like that, they were in that good place again. Almost.

She decided to just take the plunge. "I'm really sorry, Sam. It was thoughtless of me not to consider your feelings. I feel as if you think I was just using you, but I wasn't… Well, I kinda was, but I was holding back my emotions about us-"

"Let's just head inside and start on the pie before we start talking about emotions. Stomach full of pie and then emotions, please," he said softly, pushing the door and stepping to the side so she could walk in. She glanced around his apartment as if she hadn't been a sex slave in the days prior and she startled when he placed a hand on the small of her back and nudged her towards the kitchen. He'd obviously been eating when she walked in and she stood awkwardly as he sat back down on the stool he had abandoned to answer the door and lifted a piece of turkey bacon to his mouth. He glanced up at her as if waiting for her to do something and she stared back blankly until he used his foot to push out the stool beside him in silent invitation. Yeah, this wasn't weird at all.

She climbed into her seat and set the pie down, grateful that she could make her fidgeting hands useful in pulling the pastry out of its container. He stood, the sound of the stool dragging across the floor abrupt and loud and _not helping the awkwardness of this situation at all,_ and he moved to his cabinets and drawers to pull out plates and utensils. A final scrape of his chair and he was sitting beside her again, cutting the pie and putting it on plates and she suddenly wanted to throw the pie in his face or pull her hair out. Or pull his hair out.

Because she really didn't want to be the first person to say something, but he was interested in _pie_ and only pie apparently and part of her felt like she deserved this, but another part of her wanted to take her pie, steal his turkey bacon and go home. Instead of acting on impulse, she sat straight like a big girl and watched him eat the damn pie without looking at her and listened as he made sex noises – damn right, he better make sex noises. That's her grandma's recipe – and calmly tried to set him on fire with her mind.

When that didn't work, she said, "I don't want you to be my boyfriend." And he looked up at her with an expression that was as heartbroken as one with a mouthful of delicious pie could be; which happened to be surprisingly very heartbroken. She quickly amended her words by reaching out to stroke his hair. "No, I mean, I don't want anyone to be my boyfriend right now. I'm at a really weird place in my life – well, not even weird, it just feels like things are finally starting to move forward. With finishing school and finding my job and a new place to live, I'm finally on the right track, but it's still so new to me and… and I do have feelings for you, but – at this moment of transition in my life – I don't think I'm ready for a boyfriend. At all."

That sad look in his eyes didn't dissipate and he took the saddest bite of pie she had ever seen in her life, but he nodded. "No, I get it." He dropped his fork and used his newly freed hand to scratch the side of his neck. She watched his Adam's apple bob a few times before he asked, "So this has nothing to do with me being a stripper?" And then he was looking at her with eyes so clear and determined that she blushed.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Mercedes," he told her, his brow furrowing. "Just be honest. You don't like that I'm a stripper."

"No, I wouldn't say that I don't like it-"

He nodded. "Because you've reaped the benefits of it. Go on."

Mercedes bristled at that and took a big bite of pie because obviously it was anything but humble judging from the way he was staring her down and she totally needed a piece of that. "I'm sorry if I'm not completely comfortable dating a man who takes his clothes off and slides around on women's laps for a living."

"But you're comfortable having sex with one?" he countered and she really, really wanted nothing more than to steal all his bacon, turkey or not, in that moment. That would do him right.

"Maybe I'm not comfortable with how comfortable you were having sex with me."

"What does that even mean, Mercedes?"

"It means…" She nibbled her lip as she tried to un-jumble her thoughts and get down to the bottom of what was actually bothering her. "It means that you're a stripper and women put their hands all over you… And sometimes you put your hands back."

She was slightly upset that her voice had tapered off softly a bit at the end of her statement because, maybe, if she had said it with a little more confidence, he wouldn't be gaping at her now.

Sam finally shut his mouth and shook his head. He scrubbed his hand down his face and sighed, "Mercedes, you are the first woman I've ever… _touched _back. Stripping is seriously the least arousing thing I've ever done. Even when I was sixteen and light breezes could make me hard."

"You've been stripping since you were sixteen?" She didn't quite know how to take that.

"Yeah and never have I once… done any of the things I did with you," he finished lamely.

"Am I supposed to feel special about that?"

"No, you're supposed to acknowledge that I'm not a prostitute."

"I don't think you're a prostitute."

"Obviously you do, Mercedes," he said and all the anger and conviction that had his eyes burning before seeped out and left them pale and sad. "But I get it. We won't date. It's okay." Then he added, as if it was an afterthought, "But I like you too much for this to just be a sex thing. I mean, it's a really, really, really good sex thing, don't get me wrong, but I want… I want more, Mercedes. And I don't think I can make myself stop wanting more. I don't want to."

She was quiet for a long moment and then she said, "Give me my pie back."

"What?"

"Give me back my pie, Sam."

He looked at her as if she had just broken out in the hammer dance. "What? No!"

"Give it back."

"Why?! Because I won't be your booty call anymore? Mercedes, that's craz-"

"Just give me my pie!"

He deliberately picked up the pie plate where most of the dessert sat untouched and slowly, to her shocked amazement, he licked the top of the pie, sloppily and all over, then nonchalantly set it back down with a challenge in his eyes. So she launched herself at him.

They crashed onto the floor, him landing hard on the floor and her banging the crap out of her ankle on a stool as she landed on top of him. Sam made a pained noise and, when she glanced up to look at his face, he covered it with his hands as if expecting her to hit him. She considered in, but instead, just buried her face into his shoulder and tried to focus on the pain in her ankle rather than everything else. She failed.

"I feel so stupid."

"You kinda should. You attacked me because of booty call pie."

"Shut up, Sam," she sniffled and suddenly his arms were around her and he was sitting up and trying to look at the face she kept hidden in his t-shirt.

"Baby, are you crying? Don't cry."

"But I feel so dumb," she sobbed, rubbing her wet cheek against his shoulder. "I like you so much! Why did I do that? Why did I say those things to you?! I shouldn't care that you strip!"

"No, no, it makes sense, Missy. Not many people look at strippers and think 'I want to date this person'. It's okay," he tried to assure her, but she just shook her head and shuddered with new sobs.

"It's not okay! I made you feel like crap!"

"I'm fine!"

"No you're not. I broke your damn heart for a stupid reason. Look at you. You're pathetic," she argued and he opened his mouth to counter that, but ultimately ended up closing it again because he kind of agreed.

So he just held her until his shirt was no longer needed as a tissue. When she finally glanced up at him, her eyes red and puffy and her pout the cutest freaking thing he'd ever seen in his life, he asked, "Were you seriously gonna take the pie?"

"I was upset. Shut up."

O0O0O0O0O

"So I don't have to be your boyfriend right now," he told her, much, much later, between a few lazy thrusts and the tightening of her grip on his hair.

"I want it… I want it."

"Me to be your boyfriend or _it_?"

"Both! Oh God, both, Sam! Both! Both! Booooooooooooooooooooooooth!"

O0O0O0O0O

**A/N:** So, all that is posted here has been written for a long time now. Like since the last chapter, I think. And I didn't post it because a sex scene didn't fit in it. And I wanted a sex scene. And now I'm just like eff it, I'll write sex in the next chapter. Sex and Artie. Sigh. _**– DMH**_


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